


Between Two Fools

by Llama1412



Series: Don't Cry For Me, Temeria [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Courting Rituals, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Misunderstandings, Recreational Drug Use, Secret Relationship, Self-Worth Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26788936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: Iorveth thought he knew what he was getting into when he decided to ask Roche to come to Vergen with him. He should have known better.Iorveth's POV on events during(Im)Perfect Strangers
Relationships: Iorveth & Saskia, Iorveth & Scoia'tael (The Witcher), Iorveth/Vernon Roche
Series: Don't Cry For Me, Temeria [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1912225
Comments: 84
Kudos: 55





	1. After Chapter 10

**Author's Note:**

> Title based on this quote: “Love is a misunderstanding between two fools.” — Oscar Wilde
> 
> References events in Chapter 10 of [(Im)Perfect Strangers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26116723)

By now, Iorveth knew what he felt for Roche. He may not have been ready to put a _name_ to it, but he knew what it was, knew he’d felt this way about specific people in the past and _never_ for a dh'oine before.

But gods damn it all, Roche made it so _easy_ to ~~love~~ to feel _something_ for him.

So yeah, Iorveth knew. He’d known from the moment he’d asked Roche to come with him to Vergen.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t a risk. When he was with Roche, it didn’t matter. He was _happy_ when he was with Roche and no, he wasn’t going to think about that too hard either. But when Roche wasn’t there, when Iorveth was left going about his life as the Scoia’tael commander, all he could think about was how all of his people would hate him if they discovered who he was sleeping with. Not just because Roche was human, but because he was _Roche._

Gods, what was Iorveth doing?

But the thought of stopping, of ending this thing with Roche – he couldn’t. He didn’t _want_ to. 

That was rather the problem, wasn’t it?

* * *

Iorveth hadn’t _lied_ to Roche when he’d asked why Ciaran was at odds with Iorveth, but he hadn’t exactly told the truth either. Ciaran _was_ angry about living with humans. He _was_ upset that Iorveth was so dedicated to following Saskia.

But mostly, Ciaran was pissed because he’d figured it out.

The thing was, Iorveth...well, he kind of hadn’t been thinking about what this thing with Roche was. Except for how that was all he could think about. The entire trip to Loc Muinne, his mind felt like it was constantly poking and prodding at things that Roche did, at things Roche said, at the way Roche treated him like an equal. A _desirable_ equal, even.

Iorveth never meant to catch feelings. He was an elf, and he hated humans. He hadn’t even thought it was possible for him _to be able to_ develop feelings for a human.

But Roche wasn’t like any human he’d ever known.

Well, actually...Iorveth had never really known _any_ humans, had he? 

Maybe it was possible they were _all_ as complex as Roche was turning out to be. That didn’t make them any less dangerous, didn’t make humanity any less of a threat. But it _was_ interesting to realize that Iorveth no longer resented having to share a land free of prejudice with humans.

And it wasn’t even just Roche, though of course Roche was the human Iorveth was most concerned with. But the others – they weren’t _friendly,_ aside from Pillow Tits (and really, who named themselves Pillow Tits? Who let their commanding officer call them that!?), but they _were_ interesting. 

Pillow Tits, for starters, was surprisingly really, really nice? Like, not just in a not-racist way, but like, he was just a sweetheart of a person and he _wanted_ Iorveth and the others to come talk to him and get help if they needed it and just…he was nothing like Iorveth expected from a Blue Stripes commando, even the medic. 

Thirteen – and yes, that was, apparently, his name – was seemingly determined to tattoo one of the Scoia’tael, and what was even up with that? Not to mention, the guy blatantly had FUCK THE ARMY tattooed on his right hand – and he still saluted with it, while Roche acted like it was normal?? Thirteen wasn’t _not_ racist, but he was at least willing to talk to them and he was surprisingly curious about elves, even though he somehow always managed to frame his questions as insults.

Shorty – and seriously, did _any_ of Roche’s squad have normal names? – was someone Iorveth and his people were lowkey in awe of. Aside from the fact that the man wasn’t much of a singer (and the fact that Iorveth now knew all the lyrics to the Temerian National Anthem, which he’d never wanted to know), Shorty had _sixteen_ children. _Sixteen!!_ And everyone just acted like that was normal! 

Admittedly, Taredd was not at all pleased to keep getting roped into Shorty’s renditions of “look what my children are up to now!”, but Iorveth actually enjoyed eavesdropping on Shorty’s diatribes. His children _also_ had unfortunate names – Papa? For a newborn baby?? – but their stories were actually kind of interesting. One of the kids was apparently a master swordsman, although Iorveth wasn’t actually sure which one, because the one name he caught was Juliette and he was pretty sure Shorty said she was eight??? 

One of the children also apparently took after Fenn in the _absolutely-fucking-insane_ department, and Iorveth just hoped that Shorty’s poor wife kept the explosives out of reach. He was, perhaps, still a little bitter about the pepper smoke incident.

But seriously, who the fuck decided to just “play” with the formula for a bomb???

Then again, who bragged about their fake teeth being more convenient to repair than normal teeth? Fenn was a weird one – and Iorveth got the impression that wasn’t _just_ his elven sensibilities talking.

Ves, Roche’s second in command, seemed to take great pleasure in poking at those sensibilities, trying to wiggle in and find weak spots. She was good at it, too, vitriolic and clever and all too eager for someone to step out of line and give her an excuse to attack. 

Then there was Finch. Finch was someone Iorveth had actually only previously seen in reports from Rinn, because the sharp shooter usually played sniper from the background when the Blue Stripes and the Scoia’tael clashed. The gruff man was about what Iorveth had expected on the surface – but then he started leaving indecent carvings around and honestly, Iorveth was kind of impressed? Humans weren’t usually as skilled at shaping nature the way elves were – but while an elf could use their connection to nature to encourage a tree to grow in a certain shape, Finch meticulously carved away curls of wood until the shape emerged. It was surprisingly fascinating, watching those fingers steadily take knife to any bit of wood Finch had on hand.

Also, his figurines really were quite detailed. The one of Iorveth getting ploughed by Roche was definitely supposed to be insulting, down to the frankly hilarious way his wooden counterpart was depicted sucking on Roche’s middle finger while Roche fucked him. The anatomy was completely inaccurate, but that may well have been intentional – humans seemed pretty fixated on their dicks, so maybe depicting Iorveth _without_ one was some deep insult. Elves weren’t so concerned with such things.

Besides, if he got to choose _one_ place to have Roche’s mouth, it wouldn’t be his dick. Most days, anyway.

But now that he was thinking about it…

Anyway. The Blue Stripes.

Of all of them, Silas was probably the most endearingly racist. Like, if Iorveth didn’t think too hard about why Silas was absolutely terrified any time an elf came within shooting range of him, it was kind of cute. Plus, Iorveth had never laughed harder than when Silas had dropped the belaying pin on Roche’s foot. Roche’s vocabulary was _creative._

Watching Roche with Silas was...interesting. Iorveth had always known Roche as a Commander. Logically, he knew that would have involved training men – just like Iorveth had trained his own people. But seeing Roche with Silas, seeing the way the older man gruffly praised the boy, seeing the way Roche gently pushed Silas to take on more responsibilities, always mindful of the effect on the team…

If Iorveth had spent any time thinking about what Roche’s relationship with the Blue Stripes was, he might have expected that they were like...well, like Iorveth was with the Scoia’tael that weren’t directly under his command. He commanded all of them, of course, but his trusted commanders led most of the troops. So while Iorveth trained all of the Scoia’tael, someone like Ita who was under Maeral’s command didn’t really – well, didn’t really have a lot to do with Iorveth day to day outside of training. 

He’d thought the Blue Stripes were like that – just troops following a leader. But he’d been wrong. Watching Roche with Silas had been like watching himself with Kythaela – a commander guiding a young recruit, yes, but also a mentor raising someone that was too young and trying to teach them to survive.

The Blue Stripes were more than troops following a commander. They were a _family._

Iorveth didn’t know why that had never occurred to him before. Thinking back on the intelligence he’d had on the Blue Stripes, it was obvious. They hadn’t started out that way – when the squad had first been formed, had first caught Iorveth by surprise and cost him a whole unit, they’d clearly just been broken pieces forced together. They’d been exactly what Iorveth would have expected, based on their records and the expectations he’d had of them.

To see them now, to see the evidence that Roche had taken all of these crazy people and somehow built a family out of it… it gave Iorveth hope. 

Maybe he was doing something crazy, throwing himself into this thing with Roche. But when was the last time he had been able to be impulsive?

When they’d fought the gargoyles in Loc Muinne, Iorveth had automatically trusted Roche with his back. And, even more incredibly, his trust had been _founded._ Roche _had_ guarded his back, and they had worked seamlessly together in a way that Iorveth had never found even with Ciaran or Maeral or any of his most trusted people. 

He hadn’t consciously chosen to trust Roche. If he’d been conscious of it, if he’d truly thought about it, he surely _wouldn’t have._ But Roche not only lived up to that unconscious trust, he reciprocated it. He invited _more_ of it. 

Roche knew who Iorveth was, knew every dirty deed to his name, knew all the worst things about him. And he’d guarded Iorveth’s back anyway. He’d treated Iorveth as an equal, as a commander worthy of respect. 

Iorveth had no defenses against that. He didn’t _have_ anyone like that in his life. There were those like Imadia that he trusted and confided his worried in, of course, but at the end of the day, _he_ was the leader of the Scoia’tael and they all looked to him to make their decisions.

Maybe he’d taken that for granted. He’d certainly taken Ciaran’s devotion for granted.

Iorveth had always feared that any who _truly_ knew the blood on his hands would leave him the way Cedric had left him when he’d “changed”, when he’d sunken too far to be followed.

He wasn’t used to the depths he’d sunken to being so _good._ He hadn’t built any defenses against that, hadn’t planned any strategies to deal with it. 

Iorveth hadn’t realized he was falling in love until it was too late. Until Ciaran pointed it out to him.

Of all the things to be a breaking point, why did it have to be the one that actually made Iorveth _happy?_

Ciaran’s disavowment had blindsided him completely.

Iorveth hadn’t realized how obvious he had been, how clear it was that he was developing _feelings._ If he had known what was happening, if his mind hadn’t been so fixated on Roche, he wouldn’t at least had the sense to _hide_ it. He would have at least anticipated the problem.

For the first time since they’d met three decades ago, Iorveth had no idea what Ciaran was planning, and that scared him. 

Throwing himself into this thing with Roche was perhaps not the wisest way to distract himself from the fear and the helplessness, but if Ciaran was going to hate him for this, Iorveth may as well give him something to _really_ hate. 

Funny how that wasn’t making him feel better.


	2. After Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While reveling in the state of relaxation Roche left him in, Iorveth hears something that changes everything. And not for the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iorveth's POV on the events in [Chapter 18 of (Im)Perfect Strangers!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26116723/chapters/65430187)

When Roche had promised to help him “get out of his head”, Iorveth should have anticipated that Roche would go about it in the same dedicated, persistent way he did anything.

It worked. Delightfully well, in fact, and Iorveth happily floated in a haze of pleasure and Roche for long hours. He was content enough that he probably could have continued to luxuriate in the bliss of not having to think of anything, even when Roche had to leave. He wasn’t  _ delighted _ to lose his space heater and pillow, but if there was one thing Iorveth understood, it was commitments.

The problem was, Roche left the window open when he left. And Iorveth was still hazy, he didn’t catch the whole conversation. But he caught enough.

_ I love him, _ Roche said, and for three glorious moments, Iorveth thought that he could actually have this, that he could float in this feeling whenever he wanted, that maybe he didn’t have to be ashamed of what he felt, not if Roche felt it too.

And then the governess’s voice broke through.

_ Foltest,  _ she said, and everything crumbled to ash.

Of course. He should have realized, should have recognized – Roche had even brought it up, hadn’t he?  _ Is this about Foltest?  _ Roche had asked nervously when speaking of past lovers and Iorveth hadn’t really processed it then, had let his damned  _ feelings _ get the best of him.

He had thought maybe he would be allowed to be happy again.

What a fool he was, to think he could be wanted. To think he could be loved. To think anyone could truly know all the blood on his hands and still find him worthy.

It had been a joke amongst the Scoia’tael, once upon a time.  _ I’ll bet that whoreson Vernon Roche gets on his knees for Foltest. Anyone that devoted must get a good dicking down. _

Iorveth’s laughter had dried up long ago. Now? Now he felt something sick and twisted and sour in his gut and he wasn’t sure if it was aimed at Foltest, Roche, or himself.

He rolled over, chasing the possibility of sleep, but all that did was smush his nose into the smell of Roche and him and Roche together. An hour ago, he would have found that comforting. At the moment, Iorveth felt more like crying than anything else and  _ fuck,  _ he needed to get out of here.

Iorveth threw himself to his feet, stumbling over to his armor. Only looking at his armor made him think about how he’d let Roche tie him up with it and the burning behind his eyes increased and that something in his gut was trying to crawl up his throat and Iorveth had to close his eyes and breathe deeply for long minutes. He dug his fingernails deep into his palms and forced himself to focus on those points of pain until he felt like he could function again. Then, keeping his eyes closed, he deliberately turned away from his armor and towards the table he’d tossed his bag over.

The elven robes were a purposeful choice. They’d always been his favorite, though he rarely got to wear them. He’d been the target of too many personal vendettas not to wear armor regularly. But he was here in Vergen for a  _ reason.  _ He  _ believed _ in Saskia’s vision, believed in the world they could build together where elves could have a future once more. If he couldn’t look at his armor yet, then why  _ not _ wear his favorite robes? Why not show the people of Vergen exactly how much he was committing to this endeavor?

Wearing the soft robes, fabric tightly woven in a way only elves had ever mastered, made him think of better times, of times when his wardrobe had been far,  _ far _ more extensive than sleep clothes, armor, and a handful of robes. Of times when the Aen Seidhe were honored and dignity was assumed.

Gods, did he have any dignity left? He, the proud Aen Seidhe who had  _ willingly _ let a human control him? How stupid was he to have welcomed the indignity with open arms?

Iorveth dug the heel of his palm into his eye and forced himself to stop thinking about Roche. Work. That was what he needed to do. There was plenty of work to be done, surely he could lose himself in getting started. 

He thought he’d pulled himself together pretty well for the walk across the city, but from the way Saskia’s eyebrows immediately furrowed in concern, he might not have looked as put together as he’d hoped. Well shit.

“Iorveth?” Saskia asked softly, reaching out to lay a hand on his forearm.

“I’m fine,” he forced himself to say, even though lying to Saskia just felt  _ wrong.  _ But it wasn’t really a lie – he  _ would _ be fine. He just...needed not to think for a while. Especially about the last time he’d needed not to think. “Give me something to do,” he demanded.

Saskia pursed her lips and looked him over, then nodded, squeezing his arm. “Turns out, ruling a kingdom involves a lot of paperwork. You take this half?” She offered him a stack of scrolls and parchment. “You can work next door. Seems a good place for an office, no?”

Iorveth nodded mechanically, clutching the paperwork to his chest. 

Saskia gave him a sympathetic look, “go ahead then. I’ll tell people not to need you for a bit.”

  
_ Thank you, _ he couldn’t say, but she’d never had a problem hearing what he couldn’t say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you kill me, I promise it WILL get better. It just might get a little worse first.


	3. After Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iorveth attempts to bury himself in work, but he keeps having unexpected guests.

Burying himself in the question of how to build a truly equitable society worked wonderfully for several hours. When the knock on his door came, he was genuinely absorbed in the logistical conundrum that was integrating several hundred Scoia’tael, gathered peasant troops from across Aedirn, and a number of mercenaries and warriors in with the existing Vergeni guard.

No part of him was prepared to face Vernon Roche. Not yet.

But leaving Roche standing at his office door was not a better solution, so Iorveth took a deep breath and let him inside.

“Why are you here?”

Roche licked his lips, looking at Iorveth as if he was something  _ desirable _ and something in Iorveth’s chest fracture and twisted. Roche loved Foltest. So why did he do this? Why did he come to Iorveth and make him  _ feel? _

“I, um… I was hoping you could help me get out of  _ my  _ head,” Roche said, biting his lip coyly and something hollow clanged in Iorveth’s mind. Of course. Roche didn’t know that Iorveth was having feelings. To him, this was just a simple arrangement that they’d started accidentally but both gotten in too deep to stop. 

To him, Iorveth was probably a convenient hole to fuck.

“Iorveth? You okay?” Roche asked, looking at him ever so softly as he reached out to touch.

Iorveth didn’t mean to jerk away from the touch, but Roche immediately retreated and Iorveth had only a moment to make his decision.

He reached out and grabbed Roche’s hand. Maybe he was making the wrong decision, maybe he was just signing up to get himself hurt, but Roche had invaded past all his defenses and Iorveth did not have the strength to resist.

So what if Roche loved a monster like Foltest? So what if Iorveth had stupidly caught feelings for someone inconvenient? This didn’t have to be anything more than what it had started as – a truly spectacular fuck that kept happening. Iorveth could live with that.

He  _ had _ to be able to live with that. It shouldn’t be hard – Iorveth had turned himself into a monster for the Scoia’tael, for the promise of a future that even now might never deliver. At least with Roche there was some immediate gratification.

Like being asked to fuck Roche’s face. 

Who the fuck would say no to that, feelings or not? 

And then Roche looked up at Iorveth with such a sweet and gentle smile and easily offered his mouth for all time as if it  _ meant something.  _ Iorveth could feel that pressure in his eyes that made him want to cry as he swallowed back the wild mix of emotion that surged through him.

He reached out, touching Roche’s mouth as if this was nothing more than him considering Roche’s proposal. As if every part of him didn’t yearn for Roche to truly mean it, to truly want more of him than his body.

He couldn’t help but kiss Roche then, couldn’t help pouring everything he wished they could be into the way their lips met. 

And then he said goodbye, forcing himself to accept what he could have. 

* * *

Afterwards, Roche was apparently content to just hide under the desk and warm his cock, and who was Iorveth to deny him? It was a reminder of what this was – whether Roche was in control or not, this was about sex and pleasure. And that was all well and good, as long as Iorveth remembered he couldn’t have more.

To distract himself from the bitterness of that thought, he picked up the report Roche had given him earlier. It looked to be a request, written in Elder, to found a new town within the Free Pontar Valley. Except… except the name on the request was Ciaran’s, and Saskia had circled a specific section that listed the proposed conditions for this new town.

_ Petition for the formation of a new, independent town within the Free Pontar Valley. This town would be sanctuary for elves who cannot live amongst their oppressors.  _

_ We specifically request that the elf known as Iorveth be aware that he is unwelcome within these borders.  _

Iorveth swallowed, cold shivering up his spine. Ciaran wanted to split the Scoia’tael. To offer an elf-only settlement to any Scoia’tael who felt even slightly displeased about the way Iorveth had guided them to follow Saskia – he would lose them, Iorveth realized. 

How many? He’d tried so hard to impress upon his people that their only future lay in finding a way to coexist with humanity before they were overrun.  _ Especially _ now, with the news of the bacteria. If elves were infected, if elves were  _ infertile… _

Didn’t they understand that they stood on the brink of extinction? Didn’t they understand that hiding away, creating a private enclave – it would only attract human suspicion. And they all knew what happened when humans got suspicious of elves.

Didn’t Ciaran understand how  _ dangerous _ this decision was? The division this would cause not just in the Scoia’tael, but amongst the people of Vergen? Not to mention the problems this could cause for Saskia personally! The concept of an elf-only town in a land that was supposed to be free of prejudice...

There was a knock on his door and before Iorveth could respond, Ciaran stepped inside, his face cold. 

“Iorveth,” the other elf said, and Iorveth couldn’t help the way his fingers curled into a fist in Roche’s hair.

“Ciaran. I take it the refugees have arrived safely, then.”

Ciaran ignored his statement, instead switching to Elder.  _ “You are aware of the enclave I wish to create?” _

Iorveth licked his lips, responding in his native tongue,  _ “I am. You realize the rift this will cause within the Scoia’tael?” _

Ciaran scoffed.  _ “You claim to care about the Scoia’tael, but that human piece of filth continues to taint you.”  _ Ciaran’s lip curled in disgust as he gestured pointedly to the chaperone Iorveth had forgotten he’d knocked off.

“Ciaran–”

_ “I am no longer interested in what you have to say, Iorveth. I thought you were the right person to lead us into the future, but I was wrong.”  _ Ciaran held up a hand when Iorveth tried to speak again and continued,  _ “you failed us. But I will not. I will take the  _ true _ Scoia’tael and we will recreate the glory of the Aen Seidhe.  _ Without _ human filth to muck things up.” _

_ “Ciaran, there’s something you need to know–”  _ Iorveth tried, but Ciaran just shook his head.

_ “I only came here to make sure you knew that you are not welcome in the elven paradise we build.” _

_ “Ciaran,” _ Iorveth said desperately,  _ “you don’t understand. I’m trying to ensure that the Aen Seidhe have a future!” _

_ “A future at humanity’s knees?”  _ Ciaran waved his arms furiously,  _ “no! I would rather die than kneel before colonizing filth! There was a time you were the same.” _

_ “I  _ still _ believe the same, Ciaran! Living alongside humanity is not bowing down before them!” _

Ciaran laughed, a harsh, ugly sound that made the breath freeze in Iorveth’s chest. In common, Ciaran spat, “I should tell the world what you are. How long do you think your ‘let’s all get along’ logic will stand up once everyone knows you love a  _ human!? That _ human!?”

Iorveth couldn’t breathe, the world narrowing around him. “Ciaran, please–” he didn’t even know what else to say, how to convince Ciaran not to ruin him. But the worst thing was, he couldn’t even stand up and face Ciaran properly without revealing Roche under his desk. Roche, who was hearing all of this. 

The rushing sound in Iorveth’s ears was suddenly joined by Ciaran’s unpleasant laugh. “That you deign to beg shows how very far you have fallen.” His face scrunched in distaste, “the only reason I don’t is because those young fools out there who still believe in you don’t deserve that. In return, you shall not oppose the building of an elf-only enclave run by myself.”

Iorveth swallowed, “agreed.” It was a concession and a defeat all in one. “You should know–”

“No,” Ciaran cut him off. “I have no interest in your words. Any future interaction I must have with Vergen, you will  _ not _ be part of.” Ciaran looking him over, mouth pursed in disgust and shook his head, “you were the pride of the Scoia’tael. Now you’re nothing but a  _ humanfucker.” _

The last word spat in Elder was even more condemning and Iorveth couldn’t seem to get enough air. 

His former-second in command turned on his heel and left, the door slamming shut behind him. The sound seemed to echo in Iorveth’s head, and he didn’t even notice the way his chest was rising and falling rapidly until Roche put a hand on his knee and reached out to touch him.

Iorveth threw himself back violently, the world spinning around him as he staggered back.

“Iorveth–”

“Don’t,” Iorveth snarled, heart racing. “Don’t touch me!”

He brought his hands to clutch his head, trying to make the world make sense again. 

“Iorveth,” Roche said again, reached out, telegraphing his movement obviously.

Something about that made fury wash through Iorveth and he growled, slapping Roche’s hand away. “Get out.”

“C’mon, Iorveth–”

“Get out!” Iorveth yelled, “fuck!” He picked up a paperweight and hurled it at the wall, watching it shatter into a thousand pieces like his life just had.

“Iorveth–” Roche tried again, and why was he even still  _ here!? _

Iorveth rounded on him, hauling up another paperweight, “this is your fault! I just lost  _ everything,  _ and for what? Get out!” 

Roche held his hands up and when he didn’t move fast enough, Iorveth chucked the paperweight at the wall behind Roche. Never in danger of hitting him – but very much threatening to as Iorveth picked up the last paperweight on his desk.

Roche fled, and Iorveth sank to the floor like a marionette with its strings cut. A sob caught in his throat and he raised shaking hands to cover his face. The base of one of the paperweights rolled across the floor until it his his knee. He looked down to see a lotus flower, preserved with magic. 

Before his eyes, the flower wilted and faded to dust, the spell broken.

Without quite realizing it was happening, Iorveth burst into tears and he hugged his arms around himself, shaking apart, his sense of self as withered as the lotus blossom.

He didn’t hear the door open, but there was something about Saskia’s presence that he was ever aware of – the sheer  _ power _ that she carried within her. 

Of course Saskia would have to witness his humiliation. What else should he expect at this point?

But instead of saying anything, Saskia wrapped her arms around Iorveth and drew him down to her breast. She held him there, rocking softly and humming a melody that seemed to circle around his head, forcing out all the thoughts that wanted to barrage him. 

Iorveth felt his muscles loosening as she rubbed his back soothingly, her voice deep and smoky the way it got when she was in her dragon form.

“Thought dragons didn’t have magic,” Iorveth slurred through the relaxation that had settled over him, making the agony of having failed the Scoia’tael and losing someone he’d thought would never leave seem far away.

“We don’t,” Saskia said softly, a low tone continuing to hum ever as she spoke. “But we can soothe those important to us.”

Iorveth swallowed, something hot welling up behind his eyes.  _ Important,  _ she said casually, as if the gift of being important to something as majestic as a  _ dragon _ wasn’t an honor he was unworthy of.

“Whatever happened,” Saskia began, “I am here. A dragon’s loyalty and affection is not easily earned, but you, Iorveth,” she cupped his cheek and swiped a thumb through his tears, “you are the one who made me believe that we could do this. Together.” She smiled down at him and kissed his forehead.

“The Scoia’tael–” he gasped, “we’re going to lose them.”

“Not all of them,” Saskia said, stroking her thumb over his cheek. “And I don’t need you for your men, Iorveth. I need you for  _ you.” _

Iorveth shook his head. What was he, that someone could find him valuable? A commander who had lost the loyalty of his troops, an elf who had debased himself with a human, an idealistic fool who truly believed the future lay side by side with humanity.

Saskia pet over his bandana and down his neck. “I know it’s hard for you to believe now. But you  _ are _ important, Iorveth. I would not be here without you. If you cannot believe your worth, can you at least trust that  _ I _ believe you are valuable?”

Iorveth swallowed, looking up at Saskia through teary eyes. “I–” he began, “I’ll try.”

She smiled at him, leaning down to kiss his forehead again. “That is all I can ask.”

  
They sat there for a long time, Saskia continuing to hum and rock with him in her arms. It should have felt awkward, uncomfortable –  _ him _ of all people, held in a dragon’s arm as if he were something to be treasured – but the low rumble of Saskia’s hum chased those thoughts away, and Iorveth let himself curl into the offered comfort, desperate to believe that it could be real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lotus blossoms mean Purity, enlightenment, self-regeneration, and rebirth. Just for the extra pain.


	4. After Ch 20-22: What Iorveth Got Up To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iorveth tries to find out how bad the rift in the Scoia'tael really is.

The Scoia’tael were heavily divided, and from the way people stiffened when Iorveth approached, he was going to lose more of then than he’d thought. 

He grit his teeth and swallowed down the sense of failure that crawled up his throat. He didn’t have  _ time _ to have another breakdown. What he needed right now was to get a sense of exactly how many people he would be losing – and perhaps convince those who were on the fence to stay.

The problem was, Ciaran had been Iorveth’s righthand man for  _ decades.  _ Anyone who trusted Iorveth trusted Ciaran – but was the reverse true? That’s what Iorveth had to find out. 

After the fifth awkward conversation with one of his commanders, Iorveth acknowledged that there was really no way he could avoid making speech for everyone. 

“I’ve no doubt you’ve all heard,” Iorveth began, trying to meet the eyes of each of his people. Very few held his gaze. “Ciaran is leaving to start an elf-only settlement. You should make your own decisions – so I’m asking you to think about our future. We’ve tried seclusion before, and humans still came. They still feared us and still refused to learn our culture or our ways. In Vergen, we can live as equals. We can begin to rebuild without being targetted by humans.” He swallowed, scrambling for words he knew he needed, but didn’t have.

Fuck, he was going to lose them.

Maeral, his most trusted commander, his most capable soldier, his cleverest strategist, stepped forward and for a moment, cold fear froze the words in Iorveth’s chest.

Maeral licked her lips and nodded at him the slightest amount. “Vergen gives us a future – not one where elves slowly die out, surrounded by attempts to rebuild our glory, but one where we can live and grow and be more than ‘common bandits’,” she sneered the words so often applied to them and Iorveth suddenly felt like he could breathe again.

Maeral was supporting him. Publicly. He hadn’t lost everything.

“A future,” Ciaran scoffed and Iorveth jerked around to see him melting out of the shadows across the plaza. “What kind of future is one where we’re forced to co-exist with the monsters that refuse to let us live?”

“Ciaran,” Maeral said, a hint of iciness in her tone that surprised Iorveth. She’d always been close to Ciaran. They’d  _ all _ always been close to Ciaran – there had been a time he and Ciaran were inseparable.

That time had obviously long since passed.

“Those who wish to live safely away from humans, gather your things. I will set out first thing tomorrow.” Ciaran nodded to everyone assembled, his gaze slipping over Iorveth without ever acknowledging him.

Dread sat like a stone in Iorveth’s gut. He’d lost them. He failed, failed to provide a future for elves that they could believe in.

Whispering broke out as Ciaran turned and left and Iorveth clenched his jaw, turning away and trying not to listen to how many he had failed.

Maeral followed him, tapping his elbow and motioning for him to follow her into one of the rundown houses the Scoia’tael were set up in as they waited for housing to be available – or until they decided to leave.

“You need to talk to Ky,” was the first thing she said.

“What?”

“Kythaela,” Maeral said clearly. “You need to talk to her.”

“She wants to leave?” he croaked, something deep in his chest dimming rapidly. Ky had always been especially close to Ciaran, but he’d thought that ultimately, she trusted him and his vision. Had he been so wrong?

“No.” Maeral sighed. “Just, talk to her. Now.”

Confused, Iorveth followed her away from the crowds of gossiping elves and towards Vergen’s main gate. “Maeral–”

“She’s with Imadia,” Maeral explained simply, turning into the city and leading the way towards the market. Imadia’s tent was on the edge of the market closest to them, but Iorveth had made a specific point  _ not _ to walk amongst the Vergeni crowds. The last thing he needed was to accidentally cause a panic.

But Maeral wasn’t waiting for him and he hastened to catch up to her, avoiding making eye contact with any of the market goers. Ducking into Imadia’s tent was a relief – except then he took in the grim looks on Imadia and Kythaela’s faces and he felt something in his gut drop.

“What’s happened?” Iorveth demanded and Ky swallowed, not quite meeting his eye.

“Kythaela has something to talk to you about,” Imadia said briskly, squeezing the girl on the shoulder and then motioning for Maeral to follow her outside.

The worry in Iorveth’s gut bubbled high. “Ky?”

The petite blond elf curled in on herself before him was not at all the Kythaela he’d come to know – there was none of her stubborn resolve, her absolute determination to help her friends, her cheerful and optimistic outlook on life.

He reached out slowly, telegraphing his movement and clasped her shoulder.

Like a crack in a dam, Ky burst forth into motion, throwing herself into Iorveth’s arms and sobbing into his chest.

“I’m so sorry, I never meant to, it was so stupid, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she babbled and he hugged her close, stroking her hair soothingly. 

“It’s okay, Ky, just breathe, okay? Breathe with me,” he exaggerated his inhales and exhales until her stuttering breath slowed down again. “Now, what happened?”

Ky just clutched him tighter. “I – I understand if you don’t want me to stay because of this,” she said, her voice wobbling, “but I can’t go with Ciaran, not when–” she wailed, pressing her face into his chest, even though the armor couldn’t have been comfortable.

“What – Ky, I would never want you to stay away, why would – just tell me what’s going on, okay?”

“It was such a stupid mistake, gods,” she pulled back to wipe her face and sniffled. “I – I’m pregnant.”

Iorveth blinked. And blinked again. “Wait, with  _ who!?” _

Taredd was a possibility, though he’d always been pretty sure that they were strictly platonic. But he supposed things changed – only why would she think that he would–?

“I – I don’t know.”

Iorveth choked. “I’m sorry,  _ what!?” _

She flinched back the slightest amount and he immediately stepped back, working to get his anger under control. The last thing this situation needed was for Iorveth to remind Ky of her biological father. 

He breathed out slowly, “please explain.”

“I – I didn’t ask their name,” Ky cringed. 

“Someone fromm Vergen, then?”

Well, that was… probably something he should have predicted, actually. When was the last time any of them had been able to hang out with people outside their ranks? 

“What’s the problem, then? Are they pressuring you in some way?” He usually tried not to kill other elves, but he would happily make an exception if so.

“Th’r’dw’f,” she mumbled so quickly he couldn’t catch it.

“What?”

“They’re–” Ky took a deep, shuddering breath, “they’re a dwarf.”

“Oh,” Iorveth said, blindsided. That – he could honestly say, he’d never seen that coming. 

“I didn’t even know you could  _ get _ pregnant from a dwarf!” Ky groaned and Iorveth had a sudden flash of fear that he hadn’t been doing anything to ensure with Roche–

But no, Iorveth was sterile. It would be fine.

Heart racing at his sudden panic, it took Iorveth a moment to realize that Ky was waiting for him to say something, to render judgement.

“I – of  _ course _ I don’t want you to leave,” he stuttered out weakly, still feeling entirely off balance. “Who else knows?”

Ky squealed happily, pulling him in for another hug. “I told Taredd first. He’s freaking out about it, of course, but I think he’s mostly mad I didn’t invite him.”

Iorveth grimaced. There were some things he did not need to know about his men. 

He licked his lips, “Maeral and Imadia know, I assume.” At her nod, he sucked on his teeth for a moment, debating asking. But they had always been close and he needed to know, “Ciaran?”

She shook her head without looking. “I  _ can’t,”  _ Ky whispered. “If – if that’s how he reacts to you following Saskia, how can I–”

“Oh, Ky,” he pulled her against him again, stroking her hair. “It’s okay. You’ll always have a place here. And if anyone gives you shit about it, I’ll gut them.”

She giggled, “thanks, Iorveth. I really – it was so stupid, just a fun little thing. I didn’t think – it just  _ happened.” _

“Yeah,” Iorveth said, dry throat clicking as he swallowed. “Sometimes that happens.” Thinking on the way he’d developed feelings for Roche in what felt like no time at all, he repeated, “sometimes that happens.”

“What am I gonna do?” Ky asked softly.

“What do you  _ want _ to do? It’s up to you, Ky.”

She bit her lip, leaning back against Imadia’s worktable again. “I – I kinda wanna keep it,” she said quietly. “I know – I mean, half-elf/half-dwarf, I didn’t even know it was possible, much less what to expect. But I’ve – I’ve never been responsible for a life before, not like this. And we’re building this new world here and, I mean, why not, right?” She smiled weakly.

“Then keep it,” Iorveth shrugged. “Anyone has a problem one way or another, show them how good you are with projectiles.”

Ky laughed, “I am pretty good.” She chewed on her lip and looked up at him. “People are gonna have a problem with it.”

“Yeah.”

“I think… I think I want to keep it secret for now. People will assume Taredd is the father. That’s fine, I just – oh gods, what have I gotten myself into.” She grabbed her hair with both hand, groaning slightly.

“I–” Iorveth found himself saying, “I’m in love with a human.”

Ky choked, staring up at him with wide eyes. “...pardon?”

He licked his lips and nodded. “That’s why Ciaran–”

“Oh,” she breathed softly, “oh that makes so much more sense. And that means I definitely can’t tell him.” 

She sniffled again, rubbing her eyes. “How are you doing, with – with everything?”

Iorveth grimaced, still on guard and waiting for the blow up. “You aren’t, I dunno, disgusted?”

“Iorveth, I just confessed to having a half-dwarven child. I don’t think I’m in any place to judge. Besides,” Ky shrugged, grinning at him with a spark of her usually irreverent energy, “you’ve been calmer lately. I thought maybe you’d just finally taken Imadia up on some therapy sessions, but you know, love – that makes sense too.”

Iorveth sputtered, gaping at her. 

She gave him a sympathetic look. “You didn’t think it was possible either, did you?” Then her eyes went wide, “oh my gods, you’re not–?”

“No,” he said quickly, “definitely not.”

“Oh. Good. I dunno if I could handle that right now, honestly.”

“I definitely couldn’t.” He dragged a hand down his face and looked at her seriously. “You will always have a place by my side, Kythaela. Nothing you could do would change that.”

She bit her lip. “Not even what Ciaran’s doing?” He inhaled to say something, but before he could, she continued, “don’t think I didn’t notice you avoiding the question about how you’re doing. But I guess I should’ve expected that.”

Iorveth closed his mouth with a click of teeth, gritting them against the sorrow that wanted to rise up. “Ciaran is his own person, capable of his own decisions. As is everyone here. I won’t – I can’t hold them back.”

Arms around him surprised him, even though they really shouldn’t have. Ky had always been an expressive and affectionate elf. “Yeah, I hate it too.”

He patted her back. “Guess I better go figure out how bad it is,” Iorveth said, not at all looking forward to this.

Ky bit her lip. “Maybe it’ll be better than you think?”

The doubt in her voice was clear and all he could do was raise an eyebrow. Before he turned to go, he tucked her hair behind her ear. “Thank you for telling me.”

Ky huffed a laugh. “Of course I’d tell you! I’m honestly a little impressed you haven’t had a panic attack yet, though.”

Iorveth tried to turn his grimace into a weak smile and was probably not terribly successful at either.

“Ah.” She kicked her feet through the air, sitting on the edge of Imadia’s workstation. “Well, I hope your human helped with that, whoever they are,” she winked flamboyantly and Iorveth just rolled his eyes.

“All right, just do whatever Imadia tells you to do. I’ll leave it up to you to tell whoever you wish, but you may want to see if she can guess when you might start, you know, showing.”

“I will.”

Iorveth swallowed back a surge of emotion and nodded to her, turning to exit Imadia’s makeshift clinic. Imadia and Maeral weren’t far, and they immediately hopped up when they saw him come out.

“All good?” Maeral asked.

“Yeah,” Iorveth said, then hesitated for a moment. “Is that why you’re staying?”

“Ciaran sucks at chess,” Maeral shrugged, as if they were discussing something casual.

Iorveth snorted. Given how often she beat him, some could argue Iorveth sucked at it too. 

She gave him a half smile and a sloppy salute, then slipped back into Imadia’s tent.

Alone now, on the edge of the market, Iorveth took a moment to just breathe. That – well, he hadn’t expected any of that, but it wasn’t exactly  _ bad _ news. And he’d even – Iorveth pointedly took another deep breath – he’d even told Ky about his – his human, as Roche apparently was.

He pressed his index and middle finger into each side of his temple, massaging the tension he could already feel there. He really was getting too old for this shit. Especially since – well, especially since he’d apparently failed far too many of his people.

Maybe it would be best if he just retired. He couldn’t give up the fight, not truly, but command – obviously he just wasn’t right for it. Too angry, maybe. Too cruel, Cedric would’ve said. Too soft on humans, according to Ciaran. 

Iorveth bit his lip hard and forced himself to focus on the movement of his body as he walked. Not back towards the Scoia’tael’s base, not back to where they were all gossiping about what they were going to do and probably how much Iorveth had failed them and just – he dug his nails into his palm and turned instead to head for the house Saskia had gotten him. The house next to the gardens. What better place for an elf to try to find some sense of inner peace?

He took the train because that was the fastest way to get around and because he still wanted to avoid crowds. Only that had been a terribly stupid call and now he was stuck in a tiny little box with a ton of people staring at him or carefully pretending not to as they darted terrified glances his way. 

Iorveth grit his teeth, trying to ignore it all.

By the time he got to the hanging gardens, he was more than ready for some of that mythical peace. He pulled his flute out, ready to go sit by the moonflower ivy and get out some of the turmoil inside of him.

He was just passing the yellow hibiscus flowers when Sylvar’s voice filtered through and he automatically stopped, cocking his ear. Sylvar wasn’t usually the most… garden-like elf around. In fact, of all the places Iorveth would ever expect to find Sylvar, in a garden would probably fall ninety-eighth on the list. (With the first being the nearest high-concentration bird hangout. In the forest, this had meant on top of some old ruins that Iorveth hadn’t even figured out how to climb). So it was only natural for Iorveth to eavesdrop on Sylvar’s conversation.

“–just ‘cause Ciaran’s being a dick about things doesn’t mean he’s not got a point.”

“Sylvar,” Taredd hissed and Iorveth swallowed hard.

“What? I’ve never made it a secret. Humans make me tense. They make a  _ lot _ of us tense. I get what Iorveth’s trying to do, I honestly do. But–” Sylvar’s voice trailed off and Iorveth leaned closer without thinking about it, “but how can we build a future when I can’t fucking sleep with humans nearby?”

The words were whispered terribly softly and they tore at Iorveth’s heart. He hadn’t really considered how hard this must be for Sylvar, who’d seen his childhood home set on fire by his human neighbors. He’d made it out, mostly intact. His mother had not.

Iorveth cursed himself. Of course people were scared to let their guard down around humans. Just because  _ he _ had stupidly dropped his guard completely did not mean that anyone else trusted humans as far as they could throw ‘em. 

“Are you going, then?” Taredd asked in alarm.

Sylvar snorted in disbelief. “You kidding? Look what Cedric alone did to Iorveth. Now with Ciaran? If I fucking left, it’d break him.”

“If you can’t sleep, though,” Taredd said softly, “you know you don’t owe Iorveth your mental health. He’d want you to take care of yourself first too.”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up, Shortstack.” There was a rustle, most likely the two of them play-scuffling. Well, mostly play – with Sylvar, that line was a little wobbly. “What about you, then?”

“Obviously I’m staying, I mean – Ky’s – yeah, and I want to see this world we’re trying to build firsthand.”

“Ha, nerd.”

“Ugh, why do I always forget how much of an asshole you are?”

“Beats me,” Sylvar said and Iorveth could hear the grin in his voice. The same grin that Sylvar was willing to risk losing, just because Iorveth was too weak to handle Ciaran’t betrayal.

Shaking his head, Iorveth backed up quietly. He needed to get out of there, needed to get away before he overheard anything else that he shouldn’t. Before he realized even more of his failings.

It was only after he’d stumbled out into the alley that ran behind the house Saskia had gotten him that Iorveth realized he’d left his flute behind. Damn, that had been his favorite flute! He’d semi-literally gambled away his eye to get it in that his gwent opponent hadn’t realized exactly what it was that they’d put up as stakes. It had been worth losing the speartip that had taken his eye to win that prize – a genuine elven-grown wooden flute.

The elven form of making instruments was unique, not least because only elves could do it. But it took time, patience, and dedication – something few elves were able to afford in humanity’s world. Finding that flute had truly been a treat – how could he have been so careless as to leave it behind?

Elves didn’t carve instruments, they  _ shaped  _ them literally as a growing living thing. Elven instruments were  _ special,  _ because each was made in a method that could not be duplicated. Each was grown from a tree, directed how to grow with careful management and a touch of the nature magic that all elves had.

Once upon a time, they’d been common place. Indeed, at the height of his career as a musician, he’d had an entire room full of elven-grown instruments – but then, of course, the other other option at the time was dwarven or gnomish instruments.

Now? Now it was one of many art forms that elves were too hunted to truly pursue.

Of course, Iorveth noted to himself, in his heyday, he’d actually used a dwarven-made flute most often. It had been a gift, an incredible acknowledgement of his skill from the dwarven head of the musician’s guild.

Iorveth teared up a little thinking about it. It’d been a  _ damn _ good instrument. But, like most of things from his life before, it had been lost to the fires and ruins of Loc Muinne.

Shaking his head of such thoughts, he snuck into his own house through the back – not because he was paranoid or anything. He was just… well, even  _ he _ was on edge about living amongst people they’d semi-actively terrorized for… well, a  _ while.  _ But Vergen was better than anywhere else would be and even if the dwarves thought the Scoia’tael were radicals, they  _ understood.  _ There was a reason they too followed Saskia, after all.

Iorveth sat down in the single chair the home Saskia had supplied him came with. Only one – because who would expect Iorveth the Failure to have company?

He wasn’t losing all of them, he reminded himself. Maeral and Imadia, Taredd and Ky, they were all staying, even if it wasn’t necessarily for  _ him.  _ Rinn would stay – of that he was certain. Rinn liked the humans, even had a small crush on one of the people she observed while spying for him. Well,  _ he  _ was pretty sure it was a crush. He wasn’t sure if she knew that. 

Of course, by following him to Vergen, Rinn had left her crush behind.

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. Gods, he wished he could rewind to yesterday morning, before everything had gone wrong. Go back to those precious few minutes when he’d actually thought – 

He’d been wrong, of course. What wasn’t he wrong about lately?

There was a slight change in the air that he’d long ago associated with Rinn arriving. Or making herself known. He wasn’t actually sure which it was, but if he thought too hard about it, he’d go mad worrying about what she’d seen, so he chose to believe he could sense her arriving.

“What is it?” Iorveth asked without lifting his head.

Rinn huffed loudly at that, since it also made him incapable of reading her hand signs.

With a groan, he scrubbed over his face and looked up at her. “Sorry. What is it?”

_ I have a message from Uncle Roche,  _ she signed and he blinked.

“Since when is he  _ Uncle _ Roche?”

Rinn just raised a pointed eyebrow.  _ Since you got hitched to him. _

“Ugh, I’m not fucking married, Rinn. He’s – it’s not – why am I talking about this with you?”

She shrugged,  _ because you’re keeping him secret from everyone ‘cause you don’t want exactly this to happen. _

Iorveth frowned at Rinn. 

_ Do you want your message or not? _

“I dunno, do I?” he asked tiredly. “How bad is it?”

Rinn tilted her head, her forehead knit in confusion.  _ It’s not bad at all. Why would it be bad? _

Iorveth frowned. “Nevermind, just… tell me.”

_ Your shaghag wants to meet you on the mountaintop tomorrow morning. Highest point in Vergen, he said. _

“My – I’m sorry, my  _ what!?” _

Rinn grinned.  _ It means–  _

Iorveth held up his hand, “I can guess what it means, thank you.” So Roche wanted to meet him. That was good… right? It meant Iorveth hadn’t ruined everything with his ridiculous breakdown the other night. “Since when do you play messenger for Vernon?”

She shrugged, poking around the room. What she was looking for, he wasn’t sure. Aside from his pipe sitting on the mantle, everything in this house was the way it had been when he’d moved in.

_ He asked, _ she signed, then reached out and picked up some sort of keepsake box. Empty, of course. 

“Are you looking for something or are you just being nosy?”

Rinn shrugged.  _ Oh, he said to pack for a day or two. _

“Pack?” Iorveth blinked. “What – why would I–?”

_ Because you wanna love it up with your man? _

Iorveth grimaced,  _ “why _ do I keep asking you these things. Actually, why are you nosing in on my love life at all?”

_ I’ve also been watching the kids. Uncle Roche is a good dad. The Blue Stripes are idiots, though. _

“Yeah,” Iorveth sighed, not even sure what part he was agreeing with. “I’m gonna go lie down. I’ll pack later. Whatever you’re searching for, just don’t break anything, okay?”

“‘Kay,” Rinn rasped, since he was facing away from her.

He threw himself onto the bed, draping an arm over his eyes. 

Next thing he knew, he was waking up to the dim pre-dawn light, and his bag was neatly packed, sitting on the end of the table. Iorveth rose with a yawn and checked it, only to find his wooden flute tucked in between a robe and a roll of hose.

“Thanks, Rinn,” Iorveth murmured, even though he didn’t think she was still around. He pulled the bag closed and stretched, considering his route to the top of the mountain and guilty excited for whatever Roche might have planned, if only because it meant a break from dealing with his failure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this fic will continue with Iorveth's POV up through the next few chapters, as I have something planned. After that, not sure. But I hope you're enjoying reading his side of things!


	5. Vacay Day 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iorveth and Roche take vacation from reality together. It only sort of works.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, this vacation may be a bit of a wild ride, emotionally. But remember, I promise a happy ending. Always.

Roche was gifting Iorveth a… vacation? Together. A vacation they could spend together, away from all the shit going down in Vergen, away from reality.

How could Iorveth ever say no?

Especially when… well, Roche _wanted_ to stay with him, wanted to spend time with him. Even though… even though his feelings weren’t reciprocated.

But Iorveth had already decided to take what he could get of Roche, and like this, alone and away from the world? Iorveth could almost believe that it was real.

Roche touched him casually, in a way no one else ever really had. Even Cedric had always put propriety first. But there was no one around to care about such things, and Iorveth found himself memorizing each small touch, tucking them away to treasure.

The cabin Roche had secured for them had a hammock strung up out front and Roche was so confident in declaring that they could both use a nap. It was the easiest thing in the world to let Roche help him pull off heavy chainmail and when Roche crawled into the hammock and offered himself as a pillow?

Really, how could Iorveth say no? And gods, he _was_ tired, so desperately tired and hurting and the weight of the world felt heavy on his shoulders, dragging him down.

Then, easy as anything, Roche slid fingers into his hair and stroked across his scalp and down his back, and the weight seemed to dissolve with each pass of Roche’s hands.

Iorveth sighed deeply, relaxing into Roche, nuzzling into his pillow. He could hear the steady thump of Roche’s heart, could feel the gentle rise and fall as Roche breathed, and the sound and movement guided him to the edge of sleep easily.

Then Roche spoke softly, and Iorveth could feel each word against his face. “Sleep. We’re safe here.”

Iorveth could feel something building behind his eyes and nose, the sudden urge to cry welling up in him. When was the last time he’d truly been safe? What were the odds that he should find this – this peace and contentment and safety – at the hands of the man that had been his biggest foe for the past four years?

And yet, when Roche promised him safety, Iorveth believed it. 

That thought sat uncomfortably and he wanted to examine it, he really did. But Roche’s fingers continued to stroke through his hair and the chest under his cheek was warm and soft and _Roche,_ and Iorveth was falling asleep before he realized it.

* * *

Roche woke him gently around midday and Iorveth wanted to protest, but he could hear the human’s stomach rumbling where his ear was pressed against Roche’s chest. With a yawn, he rose and let Roche get up, though not until _after_ he’d complained about his nap getting interrupted.

“You can whine about how human food is too savory,” Roche offered.

Hmmm. Not bad motivation. But, “why whine when I can fix it?”

“Even better. Show me how elves cook.”

Iorveth pursed his lips, considering. “Fine. What are we making?”

“Rabbit stew?” Roche shrugged. 

Nice, simple, filling. Fair enough. But humans liked to overwhelm the stew with all kinds of herbs and spices, so Iorveth narrowed his eyes and bargained, “I choose the spices.”

“Fine,” Roche laughed. “Shall we?”

They entered the cabin and Roche immediately pulled out supplies from the apparently well-stocked kitchen. Iorveth was reluctantly impressed.

“You wanna hunt a few hares?”

Iorveth chuckled, “too difficult for a human, hmm?”

“Well, you do have a bow and all.”

Iorveth snorted. He did indeed have a bow, and likely more hunting experience than Roche as well. 

“I’ll start the tubers, you get the meat,” Roche offered.

“Deal,” Iorveth agreed, turning to grab his bow. There was no point in re-donning his armor, not for a simple hare hunt. Actually, realistically, the bow was probably overkill, but whatever.

Once he had three hares captured, skinning and preparing them was a simple task, easy in its routine. He sat outside the cabin to do it, and he wasn’t sure when the singing started, but at some point, Iorveth became aware of a low voice singing from inside. He tilted his head, listening.

_Don't you know, you fool, you never can win?_

_Use your mentality, wake up to reality_

_But each time that I do just the thought of you_

_Makes me stop before I begin_

_Cause I've got you under my skin_

Something deep in Iorveth’s chest flexed. Was it foolish, to wish that Roche might sing such emotions about him? That it might not be entirely hopeless?

He swallowed harshly, reminding himself to be satisfied with what he was given. This was just a simple arrangement for sex, that was all. He needed not to lose sight of that.

Shaking his head, Iorveth picked up the hares and moved inside to pass them off to Roche. Still, he couldn’t help stopping in the doorway and watching and Roche moved expertly around the kitchen, moving his hips with the soft lyrics and apparently fully focused on the stew.

_I would sacrifice anything come what might_

_For the sake of havin' you near_

_In spite of the warning voice that comes in the night_

_And repeats, how it yells in my ear,_

_Don't you know, little fool, you never can win_

_Why not use your mentality, wake up to reality?_

_But each time I do, just the thought of you_

_Makes me stop just before I begin_

_Cause I've got you–_

Roche turned mid-lyric and startled. “Oh, Iorveth!”

Iorveth licked his lips. “Your voice is nice,” he said softly, and Roche actually blushed.

“Oh,” Roche blinked. “I – thank you.” Changing the topic, the human waved to the pantry. “I dunno how much we got in the way of spices, but take a look.”

Iorveth passed off the meat and went to look. Humans had a tendency to over-spice things, but this particular meal might just have to be bland as there wasn’t much– 

“Ah,” he made a small triumphant noise and brandished a bottle of wine. “Found us something to wet our throats with.”

Iorveth looked around, popping the cork and pouring a decent amount of wine into two chipped ceramic mugs. 

Roche perked up. “Oh, perfect. Stew will take a bit – what say we open the wine now?”

Iorveth offered him one mug, and Roche clinked it against his own before taking a sip.

“Mmm, this is good!” Roche’s voice held a measure of surprise and Iorveth had to laugh.

“What, you didn’t stock it yourself?”

“Nah, just the vegetables.” Roche took another sip and closed his eyes with a satisfied moan. “This is the kinda stuff courtiers stabbed people over at court.”

Iorveth blinked. “Over… wine?”

_“Good_ wine,” Roche corrected, smiling slightly. “Court is fucking ridiculous, honestly. ‘Least Saskia’s doesn’t seem like that. Well, also she doesn’t really _have_ an established court yet, but still.”

Iorveth hummed, “Saskia has no time or patience for bickering nobles.”

“Mmm, just bickering peasants?” There was a teasing smile on Roche’s face and Iorveth kicked him lightly.

“Peasants, dwarves, elves… the Dragonslayer has her priorities straight.”

Roche laughed. “Well, I sure as shit won’t miss court. Ugh.”

Iorveth smiled into his cup, savouring his mouthful of wine. It _was_ good, but certainly nothing worth killing over.

...not that he needed _much_ to kill people over, but still.

Roche rose and dished them each a bowl of stew. It was bland, but good, and the wine more than made up for the blandness.

“Didn’t know you cooked,” Iorveth said. He’d assumed Roche knew _how,_ of course. But the way he’d moved about the kitchen spoke of ease and familiarity and enjoyment.

“My mother taught me,” Roche shrugged. “I like it. Plus, keeping the Stripes fed usually helps minimize the collateral damage.”

“Oh?”

“Shorty’s wife runs a restaurant in Vizima. It’s delicious, always busy, always good food. But the key is to never, ever, _ever_ let Shorty in the kitchen or he’ll burn it all down.”

Iorveth blinked. “They have _sixteen_ children and she has time to do more than just chase after them? Impressive.”

Roche laughed, “well, the kids help out around the restaurant. But I’ve never seen Sofia without a baby harness on. She’s got a custom one, let’s her hold one baby on her back, one against her chest. I swear to gods, I don’t think they’re even all her children? But then, that line’s pretty blurry for Shorty and Sofia.”

“Oh?”

“Mmm, they – well, mainly Sofia, because Shorty’s on assignment for long periods sometimes. _But,_ I think Sofia just adores children, because they’re always adopting more and more. I’ve no idea how many of their sixteen kids are theirs biologically, but she’s good at giving them a family when they need it. Hell, by the time they show up, might even be seventeen kids.”

Iorveth blinked. Huh. Well, that made Shorty the slightest bit less impressive than Iorveth had thought, but whether they were biologically her’s or not, that was a _lot_ of kids for Shorty’s wife to keep up with.

“Are they coming to Vergen?” he asked.

Roche nodded. “Shorty’s gone to pick ‘em up. And maybe some of Sofia’s family too. There’s a couple of the kids who are around the same age as Anais and Boussy, so I’m hoping they’ll all get along. Especially since – well.”

“Since?”

Roche grimaced, “Anais made a friend. A dwarven friend. Only Magda’s tu-tuiste, I think it was?”

Iorveth nodded. “Tuiste. It’s a gender neutral term for parent.”

“Huh. Luka did say dwarves have a lot more genders than humans seem to,” Roche frowned in thought. “But, uh, yeah, Magda’s tuiste didn’t want the girl associating with – well. Us.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.” Roche blew out a breath and set his empty bowl down. “Anything you wanna do with the rest of today?”

Iorveth hummed, “I’d like to walk around the mountain and play, I think.”

Roche’s lips pulled into a fond half-smile and for a moment, Iorveth could truly believe he’d put it there. “All right. I’ve got some stuff to do here, but I can imagine playing with these views will be nice.”

“Mmm,” Iorveth finished the last of his wine and rose, dragging his fingers across the back of Roche’s shoulders as he passed, just because he could. “I’ll see you later then.”

“Mmhm.”

The mountain _was_ a lovely place to play, and Iorveth absently played simple tunes as he walked, searching for somewhere to settle down. Once he’d found it, amongst the trees and the flowers and brisk mountain air, it was the easiest thing in the world to lose himself in playing.

How did that melody Roche had been singing go?

He tried out a few notes before finding one that felt right. Then he played, piecing together the tune and this time, he could pretend that it was solely for him.

Iorveth played for hours, completely losing track of time. But eventually, his fingers started to cramp in annoyance and he acknowledged that it was time to head back. 

On his way back to the cabin, he spotted a fresh spring that called to him. Iorveth thought about it for a moment, biting his lip – and then decided that it might be more fun if he invited Roche to join him. With that in mind, he played a jaunty tune and continued back down to the cabin.

* * *

Asking about Foltest was stupid. Iorveth _knew_ it was stupid, that the answer would only hurt whatever it was, and yet, he fucking did it anyway.

He hadn’t intended to, honestly. But they laid next to each other, drying in the sun after their swim, and Roche looked so _relaxed,_ muscles loose and face unlined with his eyes closed. Iorveth traced Roche’s body with his eyes, fingers itching for a touch even as he curled them into fists. No, looking would be enough. That would be for the best.

And what a thing to look at Roche was. Unashamedly naked, he rested on his back with his hands laced behind his head and his legs casually spread. A smile tugged at Iorveth’s lips as Roche wiggled his toes. Human feet were wider than elves typically had, shaped flatter. It made the boots the Scoia’tael would sometimes steal off of merchants and travelers half-useless, needing stuffing to make them less unwieldy. 

Iorveth’s irritation at dealing with pairs of too-big boots had given him a negative impression of human feet – too big, too awkward, very oafish. So how was it that the wide rectangle of Roche’s feet seemed so... elegant?

Maybe it was because he’d seen the way Roche moved with those feet. He’d crossed blades with Roche, and while the human’s tactics relied more on strength than agility, the man _was_ agile – quick enough on his feet to keep up with Iorveth and light enough that he could scale trees or buildings chasing after Iorveth. 

He’d even seen those feet moving so very gracefully as Roche led Triss across the ship’s deck in a dance that Iorveth had surprised himself by longing for. He’d pictured it as he’d played his flute, pictured standing close enough to feel Roche’s body heat, imagined his arms wrapped around that solid bulk and just _holding._ Just _enjoying._

Iorveth flexed his fingers, remembering what Roche’s hand in his had felt like a few nights ago when Roche had so very casually seated himself at Iorveth’s feet and leaned against him. As if a human at an elf’s feet was no big deal. As if _Roche_ at Iorveth’s feet was no big deal.

He shook his head, frustrated with himself. Why did he keep getting stuck on these thoughts, on all the little ways that Roche made him feel _special_ and _worthy_ and _loved?_ He should know better. It wasn’t real.

Iorveth was the elf who helped murder the king Roche loved. He was lucky Roche spoke to him at all.

He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed hard, then pointedly distracted himself from all thoughts by focusing purely on observing Roche, tracing his eyes from those blocky feet up Roche’s solid legs, covered in a thick layer of the deceptively coarse-looking curly hair. Only Iorveth knew that Roche’s legs felt soft against his, because he’d _felt_ them. Because he’d spent two glorious nights sleeping entangled with a naked Roche, and instead of sating his desire to know what every part of Roche felt like, it just incensed it further. 

He knew what those thighs felt like entwined with his own, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to follow the black ink that littered Roche’s skin, didn’t stop him from wanting to sink his teeth into the thick meat of Roche’s thighs, didn’t stop him from wanting to find out how comfortable of a cushion those thighs could make.

Roche’s cock was soft, resting casually against his thigh, and the differences between them were less obvious when neither was hard, but Iorveth was hit with the sudden urge to feel that cock harden in his mouth, to feel the way it filled out and forced him wider.

Clearing his throat and shifting his hips slightly, Iorveth directed his gaze over Roche’s hips and up Roche’s square torso, marveling at the differences between them again. Iorveth knew he was thin – a lifetime of living as a freedom fighter had left plenty of marks – but in general, elves weren’t as broad as Roche was. Where Iorveth’s past partners’ waists would taper inwards delicately, Roche’s abdomen was all sturdy strength covered with soft cushion and dark curly hair. He wanted to bury his face in it.

Instead, he followed the darker line of hair that spanned from Roche’s pelvis to his sternum and curved across the underside of his chest. Without thinking about it, Iorveth reached out to trace the path his eyes had taken and Roche’s eyes fluttered open to look at him.

Iorveth wet his lips, unsure of what to say, but feeling that he needed to say _something._ He opened his mouth, and the words flew out without censorship from his brain.

“I didn’t know humans could be beautiful.”

Roche’s eyes went wide, a flush of red creeping across his cheeks that made Iorveth smile softly. 

“That’s not one I get often,” Roche said, clear astonishment in his voice.

Iorveth hummed, trying to find the words. By elven standards of beauty, Roche would hardly be considered pleasant to look upon. And yet, Iorveth found that when he set those aside and just _looked,_ each of the so-very-human parts of Roche – from his bulk to his softness to his hair – fit together just so and created a picture that was very pleasing to look upon indeed.

“You have a strength to you,” Iorveth said honestly, “a solidness.” He licked his lips and, since Roche wasn’t objecting, continued to let his fingers explore Roche’s skin. “No one could ignore you if they wanted to.” Iorveth certainly hadn’t been able to, even back all those years ago at Zahia’s wedding party where they’d first met. There was just something about Roche that demanded his focus, that demanded his utmost attention.

Iorveth glanced up at Roche’s face, and then hesitantly leaned down to press his mouth against a triangular patch of skin that felt rough under his fingers. There was something comforting in knowing that, elf or human, they all scarred the same. Even if there was no hair to hide Iorveth’s scars.

Questing hands found each scar on Roche’s torso and Iorveth pressed his mouth against them, wondering about each of them. How close had Roche come to never meeting him at all? How close had Iorveth come to having been deprived of Roche in his life?

On Roche’s chest, ink vivid and stark even through the hair, there was a depiction of the Temerian flag – white lilies against a dark blue background. A match for the emblem that would’ve sat above Roche’s heart on the other side, if Roche had his armor on. Unlike the cloth insignia, blue lines extended above the shield on Roche’s chest, creating a blue-striped flag. 

It had been one of the first things he’d noticed about Roche when he’d gotten Roche naked, but before, he hadn’t dared to touch it, hadn’t dared to follow the blue lines with the tip of his tongue.

Roche inhaled sharply, but didn’t stop him, didn’t push him off and yell at him for desecrating the Temerian flag. Instead, Roche asked the question Iorveth would never truly be able to answer.

“Does it bother you?”

“Mm?”

“The – my – I dunno, all of it. You’re not exactly a fan of Temeria.”

No, no Iorveth was not. Or rather, “Temeria as it was, no, certainly no. And the feeling was mutual.” Iorveth swallowed and met Roche’s gaze – and then found the words wouldn’t come as long as those intense eyes were locked with his own. So he looked down at Roche’s chest, down at that Temerian emblem, that _Blue Stripes_ emblem, and admitted, “But the Temeria you think Anais and Boussy can build? I–” the words clogged in his throat, too many of them trying to escape. 

_I want to be part of it._

_I want it to include my people._

_I want to be the one to teach Anais and Boussy that elves aren’t bad._

_I want to go back home and truly feel that it’s home again._

Iorveth swallowed them all down, trying a different track instead. “Did I ever tell you…?”

“Tell me what?”

Why was it so hard to shape the words? They were on the tip of his tongue, but forcing them out was such a struggle and Iorveth abruptly realized that he hadn’t spoken of this in decades. Centuries, even.

“The land you call Temeria. I was born there.” He licked his lips, “long before it was Temeria, of course, but…”

“But there’s something about home,” Roche said easily and Iorveth blinked. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, “suppose there is.” 

He’d never really thought about it that way, never thought about why, even after centuries of life and exploration, he still came back to the same area. 

Of course, back then, most of this land had been forests. Then humans had come and, well… there was a reason dh’oine meant destruction in Elder. Not that any of the dictionaries said that anymore. Most of the Scoia’tael probably assumed they’d started the trend of equating humans with bad things. But Iorveth remember before the Conjunction of the Spheres, before humans had come. 

Dh’oine had been a noun, meaning the action or process of causing so much damage to something that it no longer existed or could not be repaired. Iorveth had always found it ironically fitting.

Now? Now he thought back on Dandelion’s explanation of the dwarven goddess of fertility and war. _Yisna the Flame – because like fire, destruction can be the first step in creation._

“What was it called?” Roche asked and it took Iorveth a moment to remember they were speaking of Temeria. Or rather, of home.

“Dùthaich,” Iorveth said quietly.

“Dù – Dùth – Dùthaich,” Roche struggled to repeat the word and his accent was truly horrendous, but all Iorveth could do was smile. How many people, when told the Elder word for something, never even bothered to try repeating it?

“It means homeland in Common,” Iorveth supplied, eyes drawn back down to the Blue Stripes tattoo as he thought about what home meant to Roche. Obviously service to Temeria and the family around him were a large part of that. Those Iorveth could understand. But the king-shaped hole in the conversation was a big part of Roche’s definition too.

Iorveth bit his lip, remembering Pillow Tits’ words when Iorveth had asked the question about Roche that just wouldn’t leave him alone. _I suspect that if you ask him, the Commander will tell you why._

Apparently it was time to test that. So Iorveth took a deep breath and asked, “why did you follow Foltest?”

Roche blinked at him in surprise, face turning thoughtful. “I – uh… not really sure what kind of answer you’re looking for. He’s – he was my King. My friend.”

Iorveth _knew_ that much. But it still didn’t tell him _why._ “What made you follow him originally?”

He let Roche pick his words carefully, outlining the Blue Stripes tattoo with his fingers.

“Well, he saved me. Or, technically, I saved him and his sister. On accident.”

“What?”

“That’s how it started. There was a parade in Vizima, the royal family coming out to see the common folk. They even came to the slums – it was a big deal! This was under King Medell still, and then-Prince Foltest and Princess Adda were targeted. But I – well, it was an accident, honestly. But it saved them. Next thing I knew, Brigida and I were being dragged to the palace and suddenly working in service to the royal family.”

“Brigida?” Iorveth’s eyebrows furrowed. That was it? 

“Oh, yeah, she was my date for the parade. Anyway, she ended up serving as one of Adders’ – ah, Princess Adda, that is – one of her ladies in waiting. And I became – well, whatever Foltest needed, really. Which, at the time – I was about 15, if I remember right – was mostly just, well, being someone close to their age they could be friends with, the both of them.”

Adders. Roche had a nickname for the former princess? Did he have one for Foltest too?

What _exactly_ had Foltest needed from him?

Iorveth swallowed down such thoughts. It wasn’t his business. He shouldn’t even _want_ to know. It was just his stupid morbid curiosity getting the best of him, torturing him with what Roche and Foltest might have been.

“And you’ve followed him since?” he asked, even though he should have let the conversation end, should have changed the topic and tried to salvage what he could of the peace and joy from earlier in the day.

Roche snorted, “of course. For a kid from the slums, Foltest was literally life changing. It’s – didn’t you ever follow someone because they gave you a better life?”

_You,_ Iorveth couldn’t say. It scared him that he wanted to. Instead, he shrugged. “I was never much good at following people. Always wanted to be the best.” Best musician. Best soldier. Typical that of all things to care over, it would be his perfectionism.

Roche made a slight face. “You follow Saskia.”

“Well, yeah, who wouldn’t?”

At the look Roche gave him – the look he caught because he couldn’t stop glancing up at Roche’s face, even as he tried not to, tried to keep his attention on the fingers tracing Roche’s tattoo – Iorveth thought about how to answer. It wasn’t as if Saskia and Foltest had anything in common except a crown. Foltest didn’t even belong on the same _scale_ as a dragon. _Especially_ not Saskia.

“Saskia… from the moment I met her, I knew I would follow her. Never met anyone like that before. But she’s – I mean, she and Foltest can hardly compare.”

Roche looked mortally offended, “to _you.”_

Iorveth rolled his eyes. _He_ was the one Roche was asking, wasn’t he? 

But instead of picking a fight, Roche sighed with such exhaustion that Iorveth’s bones ached in sympathy. “Look, I know Foltest wasn’t perfect, I do. But he was – everything Saskia is to you, Foltest was to me. He gave me the chance to serve Temeria the only way I could.”

Serve? Was that really what Roche thought _service_ was? To be sent after those the king disagreed with, to ‘take care’ of whatever the king wanted – whether it was as simple as executing a peasant or as complex as hunting the Scoia’tael. 

He tried to bite back his response, he really did. But nonetheless, he voice was incredulous as he said, “as his attack dog?”

_That’s not service,_ he wanted to say. _That’s a king taking advantage of tools at his disposal._

But Roche would never believe that, not of his dear precious king. Not when the truth came from Iorveth.

Again, instead of starting a fight, Roche’s voice was soft. “You’re the leader of an army, Iorveth. Of course you’d serve Saskia differently. But someone like me? How else would I be able to serve? Foltest put me through basic training, he put me through officer’s training, he gave me the skills I needed. What would you prefer? That I’d said no? Too late for that now.”

_I’d prefer for you to know your own value,_ Iorveth didn’t say. Instead, he thought about what it meant, that Roche compared Iorveth serving Saskia with the shit he’d done for Foltest.

The implications made something hollow clang in Iorveth’s chest. When Roche talked about this new world they were building together, did he still believe that he would be whatever the fuck he was to Foltest?

_No,_ Iorveth swore. He believed in Saskia _because_ she would never ask him to become a monster. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t anyway, if he felt it was needed. But he _knew,_ knew with a certainty that reverberated through his body, that Saskia would never ask him to do something that she herself wouldn’t do. And Saskia, for all that she was a dragon, was _not_ a monster. Saskia was the most _good_ that Iorveth had ever seen anything be in his 1300 years of life. She might fight a losing battle against insurmountable odds, but there were depths that she would never sink to.

That was what made her special, made her _worth_ following. Didn’t Roche understand that?

“You’re not Saskia’s attack dog.”

Roche just snorted. “No? Just wait. I know what I’m good for, Iorveth. It’s not glamorous, but it’s necessary. C’mon, you know this – ideals are all well and good, but when it comes to the reality, someone’s gotta get their hands dirty.”

Iorveth shook his head. “Saskia won’t ask that.”

“Okay, fine, whatever,” Roche sighed and very clearly didn’t believe him. “Foltest did, and I did what was needed. Are you asking if I regret it? Because I don’t.”

By now, Iorveth had traced every inch of the Blue Stripes tattoo, so he moved on, examining the small shape on Roche’s hip: a skull sitting on a sprig of rosemary – remembrance? Or did Roche choose it by chance? – with a perfect ceremonial crown atop it. Kind of a strange choice for a man who served a crown so… specifically.

Though really, Iorveth did not want to this about specifically _what._

He cleared his throat, considering Roche’s words. But no, that wasn’t what Iorveth wanted to ask at all. What use was regret when actions were actions, and monsters like them had the blood on their hands to show for it?

“No,” he agreed, “you don’t regret the things you’ve done for Temeria. Like I don’t regret what I’ve done for the Scoia’tael.”

“Exactly.”

Iorveth huffed. Exactly _what?_ He _still_ didn’t understand why Roche followed Foltest or how the man who Iorveth had _seen_ trying to teach Anais to unlearn her racism could be the same man who carried out her father’s racist orders.

And it wasn’t just that. If what Pillow Tits had said was true, that the Blue Stripes looked to Roche for their orders instead of Foltest, because _sometimes there were differences_ – Iorveth grit his teeth. He just wanted to _understand,_ because he knew humans could be contradictory, but Roche didn’t any make sense – he said service when he meant getting his hands dirty, he spoke about Temeria as if she were a deity and yet, in the same breath, equated Foltest with Temeria. He taught the children careful lessons about consent and reasoning and yet he acted as if those things didn’t apply to him, not when royalty was involved. Hadn’t he even said it? He was pressed into royal service without consent.

Iorveth felt suddenly cold. What else had happened to Roche without his consent because his _king_ demanded it?

But Roche’s voice had sounded so _wondrous_ when the man had confessed his realization that he was in love. Even if it was with – Iorveth’s free hand curled into a fist in the grass – even if it was with a monster... well, weren’t _they_ monsters too, after all? There was a part of Iorveth that refused to accept that the wonder in that voice was for someone who had done things Roche didn’t want. Or maybe it was just that he wanted Roche’s love to have been reciprocated, wanted Roche to have known what it was like to be loved, even if it couldn’t be by Iorveth.

Iorveth closed his eye tightly and swallowed around tightness in his throat. Even if he couldn’t have Roche, he needed to _know._ He needed to understand _why._

“You followed Foltest,” he said carefully. “But you still interpreted his orders differently. Why?”

Roche blinked, astonishment writ large across his face. “How do you know that?”

Iorveth shrugged, determinedly keeping his gaze on the hand he had on Roche’s hip. “Pillow Tits and I chatted a while back.” _And then I cried my eye out and discovered why you call him Pillow Tits,_ he didn’t say.

“It’s – I dunno if I have an answer for you. It’s more… Triss framed it as the difference in knowing and experiencing. Foltest _knew_ what was best for Temeria and worked to make it happen. But he’s – he was the King. There were some things he was never gonna experience that – well, that mattered. Uh, I guess it’s like what Saskia’s been talking about with implementation. Something can be well intentioned, but sometimes the execution leaves a lot to be desired. But that’s what advisors are _for_ – to point out your blindspots and make it work around them.”

Well. Iorveth had no idea if that answered his question or not, honestly. But there was a note in Roche’s voice again – awe and reverence and adoration – that made Iorveth feel sick. He wanted Roche to have had his love reciprocated, but of _all people,_ did it really have to be with _Foltest?_ With the man who had made it his life’s ambition to wipe out Iorveth’s people?

He wasn’t sure why he said it, wasn’t sure why he felt the need to torture himself this way. But maybe it was best, to get it out of the way now. To – to face reality and acknowledge that they could never work, no matter how much Iorveth wanted them to. 

“You love him,” he rasped, and Roche just shrugged. As if it was obvious. As if it was a _given._

As if Iorveth had never had a chance.

“Well yeah, he’s my king. Why?”

Iorveth very suddenly felt the need to cry. To run away and find somewhere where the cracking in his chest couldn’t hurt anymore.

“No, nevermind,” he dismissed Roche’s question quickly. 

He’d already said goodbye to Roche dammit, so why did it hurt to much, to have it confirmed that Roche could never be his? He’d already said goodbye, already had his last kiss. Now it was time to take his last touch, because he’d been wrong – he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t live with having Roche without ever _truly_ having him. 

Iorveth breathed in shakily, tracing the line of a wound on Roche’s pelvis that was in the still-scarring stage of things. Then he fisted his fingers and turned himself physically away from Roche, rolling to his feet.

Even so, he couldn’t stop himself from offering Roche a hand up. Just a friendly helping hand, nothing longing at all in the brush of fingers against each other.

“Iorveth–” Roche started and Iorveth _couldn’t._ Not right now, not when he was hanging onto his composure by a quickly-fraying thread.

“We should head back to the cabin before we lose the light.” He didn’t look at Roche, just focused on getting dressed and _not fucking breaking down._

“Are you okay?” Roche asked, and clearly he wasn’t doing as well as he’d hoped at hiding the ridiculous mess of emotions inside him.

Iorveth breathed in deeply through his nose and channeled every bit of focus he could into looking okay. Then he turned and smiled at Roche, “of course.”

Roche smiled weakly back at him and somehow that made everything worse.

Iorveth spent the walk back to the cabin putting his walls back in order. He couldn’t break down in front of Roche. Not again. Not over _this._

Roche didn’t say a word to him, not during the walk nor during dinner, and Iorveth knew, suddenly, that this was truly the end. Not just of his stupid romantic hopes, but all of this. The touch, the care, the understanding, the support – he couldn’t have that from Roche anymore. Because Roche loved Foltest. And Iorveth had helped murder him. 

_Why don’t you hate me?_ Iorveth wanted to ask, but he wasn’t sure his fragile composure could take the answer.

Instead, he pulled out a half-finished knitting project that Rinn had packed for him after dinner and pretended to be absorbed in it. Roche glanced at him and then stepped outside and Iorveth was finally alone. Finally alone to face the maelstrom of his thoughts.

He wasn’t ready. He needed – he needed something he could channel his emotions into, something he could _create_ out of the destruction.

Iorveth looked down at his knitting, a scarf he’d been working on for Maeral, and an idea occurred to him. Goodbye gifts weren’t entirely traditional, but once upon a time, there had been a few elven subcultures that celebrated the dissolution of a “bad match” with an exchange of gifts.

What were Iorveth and Roche, if not a bad match?

Iorveth swallowed and carefully removed the unfinished scarf from his knitting needles. The pale green yarn he’d been using wasn’t ideal, but it would do. He looped the yarn around the needle and began. 

_Wrap, hook, press down._

His fingers moved through the motions and he tried to use the repetition to ground him even as his thoughts threatened to spiral.

_Wrap, hook, press down._

If this was the end, what did that actually mean for the future? Everyone assumed they despised each other – because they _should_ – so it would probably be easy enough to avoid interacting overly much.

_Wrap, hook, press down._

But Roche was irrevocably connected to Vergen’s future now, so Iorveth was still going to have to _see_ him. Still going to have to go to council meetings and watch Roche dote on Anais and Boussy like they were his own, with a mix of natural skill and careful thoughtfulness that made him make parenting look easy. Still going to have to watch the way Roche actively worked to make, not just the kids, but _himself_ better. Still going to have to know that however much Roche changed, however anti-racist Roche learned to be, it was never going to be for Iorveth. 

_Wrap, hook, press down._

How could Roche even stand to touch him, knowing the role he played in Foltest’s death? If someone had plotted to kill Cedric – honestly, even now, Iorveth would gut them without a second thought.

_Wrap, hook, press down._

So why hadn’t Roche just taken his revenge and been done with it? Why had he touched Iorveth so very softly instead?

_Wrap, hook, press down._

Was Roche punishing himself for failing to save Foltest with _Iorveth?_

_Wrap, hook, press–_

His hands shook and one of the needles slipped from his hands. He stared down at it without ever really seeing it and explored that horrible thought.

What if Roche _did_ find it sickening to touch him, but did it anyway? What if this entire affair had been completely one-sided? While Iorveth stupidly fell in love, what was _Roche_ feeling? Disgust? Hate? 

No. No, the man who had kissed Iorveth’s scars so very softly – he _couldn’t_ be hiding disgust. He _couldn’t be._

The door opened and Iorveth thoughtlessly looked up at Roche as he entered. “I’m going to bed,” Roche said, not looking at him.

Well. Shit. Iorveth wasn’t really sure if he was done freaking out yet, but it would seem he had no choice. He picked up the dropped needle and set the whole project aside. He had the decent start of a hat. It wouldn’t take more than an hour or so to finish. Iorveth could find the time before – before.

There was only one bed in the cabin, of course. Ironic, how Iorveth’s dreams of sleeping beside Roche came back to slap with such a sting. He followed Roche around the room’s divider and, when Roche didn’t bother to undress or change, he took Roche’s lead and slipped under the covers in his tunic and hose, even though this particular tunic – typically worn under his armor – was stiffer than he was really comfortable sleeping in.

Comfort hardly mattered now.

Except he couldn’t fucking sleep. All he could focus on was the small space between the two of them, space that might as well have been a chasm considering Iorveth’s inability to cross it. 

Why was it that everything in his life had to go wrong just as he’d actually thought things might be improving?

His breathing hitched in what might’ve been a huff or might’ve been a sob. So much for a vacation from reality.

Iorveth tried clearing his mind, tried counting dragons, even tried reciting the Common _and_ the Elder alphabets backwards. 

But his thoughts were not willing to be ignored and sleep was not coming.

Finally, he threw back the sheets and rolled out of bed. Roche was still asleep, so it would be rude to light a candle, but elven eyes could see moderately well in the dark. Well enough, at least, that he noticed the table _before_ he stubbed his toe on it. Not quite well enough to avoid said stubbing, though.

Biting back swears, Iorveth squinted in the dim moonlight that peeked through the windows and made his way over to where he’d left his knitting. If he was awake, he may as well finish it.

He just needed to not think about what came after that. 

Iorveth grabbed his bag, the knitting stowed inside, and headed outside, where the moonlight was enough that he could actually _see._ He walked over to the hammock and hopped up, arranging himself so that he could knit while looking up at the stars.

Starlight had always provided a certain peace to Iorveth. It was a reminder that he wasn’t alone – that as big and overwhelming as his problems seemed, in the grand scope of things, they hardly registered. 

_What is, is,_ his mother used to say, _focus on that which you can change. Let go of the rest of it._

Too bad Iorveth had never done very well with _letting go._

But he would have to. For the sake of his own heart if nothing else, he couldn’t continue this thing with Roche. And given Roche’s distance since their conversation, it was doubtful Roche even still wanted to. 

So Iorveth would let go. It was… it was a good thing. He was starting a new life here in Vergen. Roche was too much a part of his past to carry forward. It hurt, though. It hurt _so much,_ and when tears welled up in his eye, Iorveth let them fall. 

It hurt, but maybe it would be the cleansing kind of hurt. The kind of hurt that came with the changing of an age – like the destruction of Loc Muinne and the loss of everyone he’d ever cared about.

He recovered from that. It changed him, of course it changed him – it drove him to fight humanity, and every time he felt hopeless and ready to give in, he reminded himself of all those he knew who would never get the choice and he kept fighting.

Now… now he would just have to recover from this. From the end of the Scoia’tael, from the end of his affair with Roche, from everything that hurt.

He took a deep breath. Destruction and creation, two sides of a coin. For all that things were ending and for as much as it _hurthurthurt,_ Iorveth _was_ creating something new here with Saskia. He’d just – he’d just hoped he could have all of it: a new society with Saskia, a new future with the Scoia’tael, and a new love with Roche.

More the fool was he for hoping. Hadn’t he learned better by now?

Iorveth gasped for breath, wiping a hand across his face. The hat – the goodbye gift – was finished now, he knew that. But acknowledging that meant moving onto the next step where he _actually_ had to let go and it was so much easier to just let his fingers add another row. And another. And another.

But eventually, he had to stop if he wanted the hat to actually _fit_ Roche, and it wouldn’t do for his goodbye gift to be inadequate. 

Iorveth stilled his hands, biting hard on his lip and blinking the tears out of his eyes. He could do this. He _had_ to do this. He’d lost a fucking eye, he could handle the pain of this. And then he could go drink enough for half an army and pretend that the drink made it better.

He took a deep breath, throwing his legs over the side of the hammock and ignoring the way his fingers shook as he finished off the hat.

He would give it to Roche in the morning, would explain what it was and how he understood why Roche couldn’t– 

No, there was no need to bring feelings into it. He needed to treat this as the casual sex it was supposed to be. It was simply an arrangement that was coming to an end. That was all. There was no need to lose his composure over that. 

Iorveth glanced at the door. He should – he should just spend the night out here, then respectfully give his gift when Roche awoke. 

He _should._

And yet, he found himself getting to his feet. If tomorrow morning was going to be the end, then surely no one could begrudge Iorveth for savouring what little he had until then. Right?

After all, after tomorrow, he would never be able to share Roche’s bed again.

He tugged on his tunic. If he was going to savour things, he wasn’t going to do it dressed like this. Instead, Iorveth dug through his bag until he found his favorite robe. He’d known Rinn would’ve included it, known that she knew how much he loved it.

He would have to do something nice for Rinn after he got over his stupid feelings. She was probably the only reason he still had any sanity left at all.

Iorveth changed and then crept back into the cabin, leaving his bag by the door. Then, on light feet, he slipped over to the bed. Roche had hardly moved, except for an outstretched hand, and it was all too easy to slip under the covers and wrap his arms around Roche, burying his face in Roche’s shoulder.

And then he tried his very best not to cry as he focused on enjoying these final moments, the last time he would get to have Roche in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you kill me, I've already got the next chapter written and will post it tomorrow, I promise!
> 
> The song Roche sings is "I've Got You Under My Skin". My personal favorite version is [Carly Simon's.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4DwmkODXTNg)


	6. Vacay Day 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After last night, Iorveth was expecting a lot of things. Waking up in Roche's arms was not one of them.

Iorveth wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but he must still have been dreaming, because there was a low rumbling hum coming from his pillow and gentle fingers stroked through his hair as if he were something precious.

Whether it was real or not, he couldn’t help but enjoy it, couldn’t help but pretend.

“Good morning,” Roche murmured quietly and Iorveth closed his eye tight, not wanting the dream to end.

But several seconds passed and all that happened was Roche’s hand continuing to brush through his hair. 

Finally, he risked opening his eye. Sunlight streamed into the cabin, partially dimmed by the room divider, and the chest under his cheek definitely belong to Roche.

He frowned in confusion, raising himself onto his elbows without thinking about it, and he barely bit back a mournful sound as the hand slipped out of his hair.

“You okay?” Roche asked softly, that hand drifting around to cup Iorveth’s cheek and run a thumb under his eye.

Iorveth nodded stupidly. If he didn’t admit to the confusion, maybe… maybe he could pretend this was real. Just for as long as Roche was willing to pretend that Iorveth was worth touching so very softly.

Roche smiled, curling his body up to tap their foreheads against each other. “I’ll go make breakfast, then.”

And then Roche was rolling carefully to shift Iorveth from lying atop him to lying on the bed instead. Before Iorveth had really processed that, Roche was walking around the divider and over to the stove, still humming softly.

Iorveth blinked after him. He hadn’t even tried to cop a feel or angle for morning sex. Instead, Roche had just… held him? And now Roche was preparing food as if nothing was odd and Iorveth – Iorveth wanted to pretend. He  _ knew _ he shouldn’t,  _ knew _ that it would hurt all the worse for drawing this out. Nonetheless, he walked into the main cabin area and watched Roche sing to himself while chopping potatoes. 

It felt  _ good.  _ Domestic. It felt like hope and Iorveth knew he was so, so stupid to let himself believe – but he couldn’t seem to stop.

When… when Roche remembered that Iorveth’s only use was as a convenient fuck,  _ then _ Iorveth would tap out.

...probably. 

Gods, why did he do this to himself?

But did it really matter  _ when _ he ended things? What was the harm in taking a little longer, in enjoying this vacation the way it was meant to be enjoyed? At least for a little while?

If, he promised himself, if Roche didn’t end things before the end of this vacation, then Iorveth would do it that last day. Even if he should really do it now.

In the meantime… he may as well throw himself into the fantasy, right? It was gonna hurt when it ended, no matter what. Why not make the most of it until then?

* * *

Roche served him breakfast and, oddly, decorated the table with several nasturtium blossoms. Iorveth sent Roche a befuddled look. Was he trying to imply something, serving breakfast with flowers that meant patriotism? Was this some sort of passive aggressive thing?

If so, Iorveth wasn’t getting it.

But Roche said nothing and just motioned for him to eat. Internally shrugging, Iorveth took a bite – and immediately took another one, his tastebuds buzzing pleasantly. Usually human food was too savory for an elf’s refined palate, but with Roche’s dish, the fried onions and potatoes were balanced by the sweeter goat cheese and the strawberries on the side perfectly satisfied Iorveth’s sweet tooth. 

He’d had no idea Roche could cook so well. Iorveth himself cooked out of necessity, not because he enjoyed it – and he was more than happy to leave the cooking to Roche for their time here. Especially if Roche made more stuff like this.

Afterwards, Iorveth felt unusually mellow in a way food hadn’t inspired in him in a  _ long  _ time. His relationship with food was complicated, but the last time he’d felt so satisfied by a simple meal?

Honestly, he was pretty sure it was in his dreams – the dreams he had of peace and contentment, with cozy shelter and plenty to eat, and no cause for distress at all.

For the first time, he wondered if his dreams might actually be possible. The idea niggled at him as they moved outside and Roche challenged him to a game of gwent, but it soon became clear that playing Roche would take all of his attention.

Which was why lighting his pipe halfway through the seventh game was probably a terrible idea, but dammit, Iorveth was on vacation! If he wanted to get high mid-morning, then he would. 

As they passed the pipe back and forth, each of their strategies noticeably devolved, but Iorveth couldn’t be assed to care. It was nice to just… casually  _ be.  _ To play gwent and chat amiably and share a pipe – a week ago, who would’ve ever guessed that all that with his enemy would be Iorveth’s definition of an ideal day?

Eventually, after Roche forgot his point value for the third time that round, they called it quits and simply sat together, looking out at the view and passing the pipe back and forth.

“Man, your shit is waaaay better than ours,” Roche half-slurred, his face relaxed in a way Iorveth had never seen before.

He liked it. It made Roche look younger, less worn. Still ruggedly handsome, with his square jaw crooked nose, and eyes that were always so intense – but now with a softness that made Iorveth want to cup his cheeks and kiss every inch of his face.

Iorveth laughed instead, and took another hit, passing the pipe to Roche. “Elves are connected to nature,” he said, trying to explain why elven weed was naturally superior to any alternative.

Roche nodded thoughtfully. “Right. You can like – shape it?”

Iorveth raised an eyebrow, He was surprised Roche knew that, though Imadia had mentioned it during their tour of Vergen. “That too,” he nodded, “instruments are made that way.” And gods was he lucky to have a flute that was made thusly. “But also just – those who are good at it can tap that natural affinity and like… I dunno, make shit better. Imadia’s good at that.”

“Pillow Tits is our green thumb. I admit, I don’t know shit about plants. Sorry.”

Huh. Did that mean the patriotic flowers this morning  _ weren’t _ some sort of passive aggressive message?

Iorveth took the pipe from Roche and inhaled, closing his eyes as he admitted, “I’ve forgotten a lot.”

Though, in truth, gardening had never been his thing. He knew a  _ lot _ about cultivating instruments, though he’d never tried it himself – but over the years, he’d forgotten nearly everything else about growing plants.

“As long as you’ve lived, no wonder,” Roche said softly, with a hint of awe – or was that horror? – in his voice. “Tell me about it?”

Iorveth blinked. “About what?” Did he want to hear about instrument cultivation? Because Iorveth could talk about that for a long time, but usually Rinn told him to shut up before he could get more than a few minutes in.

“I dunno. You. Your life. Your music – I want to hear it again.”

Something bright and buoyant bloomed in Iorveth’s chest at that.

“That song,” Roche continued,  _ “Stella Splendens.  _ Can you play that?”

Iorveth’s eyebrow rose. Roche had remembered the title? That was – well, it didn’t mean anything, of course. But it felt like it did.

“I – um, yeah, sure,” Iorveth agreed, wondering if he was actually in any condition to play it. When he stood, the world didn’t waver overly much, so it was probably fine. He went inside to fetch his flute, and when he opened his bag, the goodbye gift sat there on top, looking ever so innocent.

Iorveth swallowed sharply, then set it aside, something guilty whispering in the back of his head. But he ignored it, pulling out his flute and returning to Roche.

When he opened the door, Roche was in the midst of some sort of contortion that led to him nearly falling out of his chair and Iorveth had to try very hard to muffle his laughter. Then he walked past Roche, to his seat on the other side of the table – only Roche grabbed him around the middle and dragged him down into Roche’s lap.

It took Iorveth a few moments to ascertain whether he was being attacked or not, but apparently Roche’s surprise grab had satisfied the human. 

Iorveth chuckled, “you’re reeeeaally high right now, aren’t you?”

“Mmm,” Roche hummed and buried his face against Iorveth’s back. “Play.”

Well, all right. Why not?

“Sure.” 

Iorveth fitted the mouthpiece between his lips and took a deep breath through his nose before beginning. Playing  _ Stella Splendens _ was as easy as breathing after the number of times Iorveth had played it, and his fingers moved automatically through the notes, leaving his mind free to get swept up in the music.

Meanwhile, Roche’s arms settled around his waist and the human sighed contentedly against Iorveth’s shoulder, and it was the easiest thing in the world to relax back into Roche’s hold, to let himself rest against Roche’s chest and settle in Roche’s lap and just enjoy playing.

Iorveth played  _ Stella Splendens  _ and several other pieces without really keeping track, but eventually, he felt his interest waning and set his flute aside. Roche was quiet, and somehow it seemed easy to pick up Roche’s hand, cupping it between his own hands. Roche’s hand was broad, with a square shaped palm and short, blunt fingers that felt so very good tangled in Iorveth’s hair. The knuckles were less pronounced than Iorveth’s own, and even though the hair on Roche’s body was darker elsewhere, it was light across the back of his hand. Roche’s skin was warm and covered in calluses, and Iorveth slid his fingertips over them, trying to identify them.

Across the top of Roche’s palm, where it met his fingers – sword fighting. On the first knuckle of his middle finger – writing. His fingertips, especially the pointer and middle finger – mending, maybe? 

Iorveth turned Roche’s hand over, stroking across the back of it. Across his knuckles – fist fighting for sure. 

That made Iorveth smile – Roche was a fighter through and through. Probably messed around with the same fight tournaments that Geralt did. Probably won, too.

Roche sighed, nuzzling his nose into Iorveth’s back. “Can you tell me about it?”

“Mm?”

“Your music. You said your family are all mad scientists. How’d you find music?”

“Oh,” Iorveth blinked. He hadn’t thought about that in a  _ long,  _ long time. “Actually, it was for a boy,” he huffed a laugh. “Vrisan, I think his name was.” Iorveth didn’t remember much about him, but he did remember that  _ everyone _ had though Vrisan was pretty. Iorveth probably wasn’t the only one who’d followed him into music classes just to stare at him. “He actually turned out to be a terrible musician, but I tried it out because of him.”

Iorveth grinned, thinking about it. Vrisan had  _ tried _ to play the saxophone. The noises he produced had suddenly made him a  _ lot  _ less attractive, but Iorveth would always be grateful that Vrisan had introduced him to music.

In fact… “I credited him in an awards speech once.” In front of the entire academic community in Dùthaich, too.  _ You may have only learned to play yourself,  _ he’d said,  _ but at least you got to meet me.  _

Iorveth shook his head, chuckling lightly. “Wow, I was a little asshole.”

“Was?” Roche snarked.

Iorveth elbowed him and Roche just laughed. 

“So what else? You found music because of this guy. But obviously you fell in love with it yourself.”

Iorveth smiled softly. “My first instrument was a crumhorn. Purely for the irritation factor, honestly.”

“Oh?”

“You’ve heard them? Squeaky fucking horns, an obnoxious sound, honestly. I was young enough I  _ delighted _ in that, of course.”

His family had  _ despised _ it and Iorveth could admit that that had only driven him on.

Roche laughed in delight. “You were an absolute little shit.”

“I really was,” Iorveth admitted. He’d been cocky about it too. “But, turned out I really liked it. Well, not the crumhorns, those are still annoying, but just – music...”

He hadn’t been good at it, not at first. But for once, he’d felt a drive to  _ try,  _ to keep playing and keep practicing until he  _ did _ get good. 

His mother, of course, lamented that he couldn’t have found that drive while studying  _ science,  _ but then, he and his mother had never quite seen eye to eye. 

“You studied music officially then? What did that mean? Attending something like Oxenfurt?” Roche asked.

Iorveth hummed, “a  _ lot _ bigger than Oxenfurt, but yeah. The academies were some of the grandest structures in all of Dùthaich. That’s where I met Imadia, actually. She was my – uh, not wholly sure what you’d call it in common. Thesis advisor?”

Roche’s brow knit, but he shrugged. “Some sort of mentor-type figure, I assume?”

“Yeah, more or less. But also an academic, so their lectures are extra intense.” Iorveth grinned when Roche snorted. “At the time, Imadia was studying how sound vibrations affect the body, particularly in regards to healing. We worked together pretty well – and have since, really.”

Roche hooked his chin over Iorveth’s shoulder. “Have you known any of the other Scoia’tael so long? I mean, I’m assuming this was mostly before humans came?”

“Mm,” Iorveth nodded. “I was young when the Conjunction of the Spheres occurred. Only a hundred or so. I still played after that, but things definitely changed.” His smile turned bitter and he forcibly turned his attention to more positive things. “Music was still valued, by humans and elves alike. We didn’t – there wasn’t a lot of mixing, as you can imagine, but I played in human venues for human audiences sometimes. Most often, though, I held concerts in my music hall.”

“That’s right,” Roche murmured, “Imadia said you had one before.”

“In what’s now Vizima.” He sighed heavily, “it’s a shame, the acoustics were truly incredible. I spent a year working out the mathematics to design a hall that would do what I wanted it to. Hosted all the famous musicians amongst the Aen Seidhe – even played beside most of them.”

Roche tilted his head – which really meant he just leaned it against the side of Iorveth’s. “I’m trying to picture it, you in front of a massive audience, enjoying the spotlight.”

Iorveth closed his eyes and thought back on it, but even in his memory, the idea of going unarmored in front of hundreds of people had his shoulders tensing. “It was a long time ago,” he murmured.

Roche hummed, shifting slightly to press a casual kiss against his jaw. “Hope you had a better fashion sense back then.”

Iorveth scoffed in offense. “I have a fashion sense!”

“Wouldn’t know it from your armor.”

“It’s called making do and making it look good anyway, thank you very much,” Iorveth sniffed, and managing to maintain a straight face for a whole three seconds before he started giggling. “I did actually, though – was kind of known for it. Or, well, for um… being loud with it, I guess?”

“Oh my gods,” Roche said in realization. “You were a flamboyant dandy!”

“Was not!”

“No, no, no, you  _ totally were,  _ oh my gods, this is amazing.” Roche’s laughter had his whole body quaking behind Iorveth and it set his own laughter off again. 

“Okay, possibly slightly,” he admitted. “I would – ha, I used to wear the most elaborate braids and robes for performances.”

Iorveth missed it, honestly. The robes he was currently wearing, the elven-fine weaving of the fabric – it made it so easy to think back on some of his favorite gowns from those days. 

Roche’s hands distracted him, though – they were ever so good at that – by sliding over his stomach. “I like the robes,” Roche murmured. “You look good in ‘em.”

“Oh,” Iorveth blinked and he could feel himself blushing. “I – thank you.”

They fell into silence, but it was a pleasant sort of silence, and Iorveth was comfortable, slumped across Roche as he was. It reminded him of that first night on the ship headed towards Loc Muinne, when Roche had offered himself as a pillow so easily.

It was possible he was quickly becoming Iorveth’s  _ favorite _ pillow.

Last night,too, laying atop Roche had been so comfortable, even though Iorveth had been… distraught was perhaps the right word. He swallowed, forcing himself to turn away from going down that path again.

What he  _ really _ wanted was to learn more about Roche, but given the way yesterday’s conversation had gone, he was hesitant to ask. What if things spiraled out of control again? He had no way of knowing what other minefields lay in Roche’s past, but given that Roche had met Foltest when he was 15, Iorveth was a little worried that all roads of questioning might lead back to Foltest.

But dammit, Iorveth wanted to  _ know.  _ He  _ wanted _ to know exactly what that minefield looked like, wanted to know everything there was  _ to _ know about Vernon Roche. 

He was just – well, he was scared. Yesterday’s pain still ached sharply, though it was dimmer amongst the laughter and herbs today had involved so far. But still…

Iorveth wasn’t sure he had the reserves to survive another blowout.

Roche bumped their faces together, his chin still resting on Iorveth’s shoulder. “Oren for your thoughts?”

“Not sure they’re worth that,” Iorveth answered with a certain amount of trepidation. But he’d decided to live into the fantasy, hadn’t he? What was the point of that if he feared saying the wrong thing in every conversation?

He cleared his throat. “I – you’ve mentioned your mom a few times, with the kids. And I know – I mean,” he cut himself off. How did one say ‘you’re kind of notorious for being a literal whoreson’?

“She runs a brothel,” Roche picked up the thread of his sentence. “Same one she worked in when I was growing up, actually. The Clarabelle. It’s actually pretty nice – Eliza, my mom, she puts a lot of emphasis on consent. Actually,” he chuckled softly, “Mom and the workers are still some of my best informants.”

Iorveth’s eyebrow rose. Who would’ve thought that would be one of the things they’d have in common? “I know what you mean. Madams and innkeepers – best informants ever.”

“Right!? Actually, I’ve been thinking about how to use that. I dunno, maybe it’s a ridiculous idea.”

“To judge, I’d need to actually hear the idea first,” Iorveth teased.

For some reason, Roche’s response to that was to lick Iorveth’s face? Weirdo.

Was he always like this when high? Iorveth wanted to find out.

“The idea?” he prompted.

“Oh, right. So like, what if we had a network of informants all over Temeria for Anais and Boussy? Like I mean, obviously we’re already working on that, because we  _ need _ intel, but more intentionally. Any city that’ll have a significant Nilfgaardian presence should have a brothel, or at least an inn.”

“So what, a sideline in the prostitution business?” Iorveth asked, “‘get off in the name of the Lilies’?”

He recriminated himself as soon as the words left his lips. How would Roche respond to his precious Temerian Lilies being referred to like that?

But he needn’t have worried. Roche gave a loud guffaw, “Gods, that’s terrible. But yeah, kinda. If we could make those kinda contacts? Would be ideal.”

Iorveth pursed his lips, thinking. He himself had contacts in brothels all over eastern Temeria. And technically, the Scoia’tael were no more. There was no risk in sharing his contacts now, not when he was all official now. 

But still. To offer his informant network to  _ Roche _ of all people? It felt sacrilegious. 

Nonetheless, he found himself saying, “Well, if you do, there may be a few introductions I could make.”

Nothing solid. No commitments, no names revealed. Just… passing along an opportunity. That’s all it would be. 

Roche clicked his tongue, something gleeful in his voice. “I  _ knew _ that brothel in Ellander had a spy! Knew it!”

Iorveth snorted. In point of fact, the madam of said brothel was the Scoia’tael’s top supplier – or had been, until now, until they were… disbanded. That was the word he would use for it. Disbanded.

At any rate, that particular brothel was, quite literally,  _ filled _ with Scoia’tael informants. It was rather ideal, considering the Blue Stripes spent a not insignificant amount of their time stationed at the Ellander Army Base. Or rather, they had. 

Ellander was the closest city to Iorveth’s forest, and he probably had more spies there than he did in Vizima.

“More than one,” he confirmed for Roche.

Roche huffed triumphantly. “Never could find the evidence, but I  _ knew  _ it! But yeah, I mean, assuming your informants don’t, you know, hate Temeria.”

Iorveth considered that.  _ Did _ they hate Temeria?

Not necessarily? But most likely. Or rather, they hated  _ parts _ of Temeria, the parts that the Scoia’tael had been fighting. But if Anais and Boussy could one day build a Temeria  _ without _ any of that?

“The Temeria the children will build. That Temeria, they might be down with.”

Roche was silent for a long moment after Iorveth’s words, and the arms around his waist tightened. “That works,” Roche finally said, and Iorveth knew from the solemn note in his voice that Roche understood  _ exactly _ what had just been offered.

Iorveth swallowed. And then he changed the subject. “So what’s she like, your mother?”

“She is – a lot,” Roche laughed. “She didn’t choose it, initially. The job. But she had to feed me somehow, so…” he shrugged. “It’s different now, though, running the place. But gods, her sense of humor is  _ exactly _ what you’d expect from a madam.”

Iorveth smiled, picturing Roche’s mother – only he just kept coming up with the image on an older Roche with tits, still wearing his fucking chaperone.

He coughed to cover his snort. “Lots of dick jokes?”

“Dick  _ everything.  _ Including an entire tea set. She’s got every kind of decorative dick there can be – from boring to bawdy to somehow fucking elegant, it’s ridiculous.”

Iorveth laughed, “I dunno, that sounds amazing. My mother just decorated the house with ‘hazardous materials’ signs. Literally, everywhere. First words I learned.”

“You’re kidding,” Roche gaped at him and he could only shake his head.

“She was a biochemist who worked with mages on some sort of experiments. Presumably, they produced lots of hazardous materials.”

Like Gwynveth, she had firmly believed that science wasn’t science without a few explosions. There was a time Iorveth had even found the sound of them almost comforting. 

Of course, that had been long, long ago.

“Well, that’s not alarming,” Roche grinned. 

Iorveth knocked their heads lightly together. “Are you close, you and your mother?”

“Close enough, I guess. She’s kinda like a colleague who knows all my most embarrassing stories and will stop in the middle of everything to tell me to go eat a food.”

“Sounds interesting,” Iorveth chuckled. Actually, it sounded like Imadia. Or Rinn. Even Maeral, honestly.

Maybe Roche had a point that he should eat more.

“It’s probably best that we’re in different cities now, actually. Though,” Roche gasped sharply, “oh fuck, I should probably tell her I kinda adopted the royal children.”

Iorveth held back a laugh. “Probably.” Considering what Imadia would do to him if  _ he _ adopted a few kids and just forgot to mention it? Probably sooner rather than later, too. “I’m amazed how good you are with kids.”

“Oh, well,” Roche cleared his throat. “Shorty’s got a lot of munchkins and if we’re all in Vizima for more than a day or two, he ropes us into babysitting. Well,  _ some _ of us.”

Iorveth considered that. Rinn  _ had  _ said the Blue Stripes were fucking idiots.

Thinking of Rinn made him think of the human Rinn always spoke about so softly. Why hadn’t Roche mentioned her?

“What about the girl, the one you used to visit in Ellander?”

Roche blinked, an impressed look on his face. “Damn, your spies are good. Almost no one knew about the visits to the Temple of Melitele.”

“Rinn,” Iorveth shrugged. “Pretty sure she has a crush on your girl.”

“Huh. You know who she is?”

Iorveth just looked at him. “Who she is officially? Queen Adda the White of Redania. Supposedly Foltest’s niece.”

Supposedly a lot of things, actually. Rumors about her were abundant and vicious, but none of them mentioned what Rinn had showed in her reports – that somehow, Roche had become a father figure to Adda.

“Ugh, ‘of Redania’,” Roche groaned, “Adda is  _ definitely _ still Temerian, lemme tell you. But yeah – I mean, I wouldn’t claim to have raised her or anything. The Sisters of Melitele definitely did all the hard work. But Triss and I were the ones sent to check on her at the temple. You know why she was there?”

Iorveth shook his head, surprised. Was Roche actually going to tell him? 

“Geralt actually saved her. She was cursed into a striga. Spent the first eight years of her life as a monster. Literally – she was cursed before she was born and no one knew about her, not until–”

“Until people started dying?” he guessed.

Roche hummed in agreement. “Geralt broke the curse, cured her. But then we were left with Adders’ daughter who had literally never experienced a kind human touch. Or, well…  _ any _ human touch really. The Temple of Melitele – the priestesses there taught Adda how to be a person. I looked in on her regularly, especially in the early days, but they’re the ones who did all the heavy lifting.”

“Rinn’s the closest I’ve come to raising a child, and she was already 37 when she adopted me.” Iorveth smiled at the memory.

“Adopted  _ you?  _ Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

“Not with Rinn,” he laughed. “The Scoia’tael’s no place for a child.” At Roche’s baffled look, he clarified, “the elven age of majority is 40. Usually, when we would get younger elves or dwarves, we’d send them here, to Vergen. To actually grow up. And I sent Rinn.  _ Several _ times, as a matter of fact. I still don’t know how she managed to keep reappearing in my fucking office, but she did.”

Actually, he  _ still _ didn’t know how she got in half the time even now. 

“So you ended up raising her?”

“More or less, yeah. Well, the Scoia’tael as a whole did.”

“Made for a interesting upbringing, I’d bet.” 

“She’s certainly unique,” Iorveth said proudly.

“You said you taught her the finger language she uses. What did she use before?”

Iorveth grimaced. “She didn’t. Her parents were killed in front of her – and then  _ I  _ killed  _ them _ . Didn’t know until later that someone was still alive. Not sure if she was mute before that, but she definitely was for a long while after.”

He still had nightmares about that day, about the way he’d thoughtlessly cut down the humans standing over elven bodies – and almost didn’t stop his blade in time when he registered that his target was cowering by the bodies, hands fisted in her hair above pointed ears. 

“Right,” Roche said, “you said before that she didn’t usually talk in front of other people, right?”

“Yeah.” Usually just him. Sometimes Imadia. But now apparently ‘Uncle Roche’ and Anais and Boussy were part of that number. 

He could see a deep meaning in that, but this was also  _ Rinn.  _ “She likes fucking with people, though, so it’s entirely possible that she’s just waiting for the right moment for a dramatic reveal, honestly.”

Roche laughed, “oh, wonder where she learned that from.”

Iorveth scoffed. He wasn’t dramatic.

Much.

“Wait, hold on – you said you think Rinn has a crush on  _ Adda!? My  _ Adda!?”

Iorveth nodded. “If the Kingslayer had been around when she married Radovid, Rinn definitely would’ve murdered him.”

At the time, Iorveth hadn’t understood why Rinn had been so worked up over it. So what if the “pretty priestess” that Roche visited in Ellander was getting married? That’s what princesses  _ did.  _

Of course, Radovid was a particularly bad choice – and from Rinn’s reaction, the choice had  _ not _ been Adda’s.

“How does Rinn even know her? Like yeah, okay, spying on me I get, but like…”

“I think they’re penpals?” Iorveth shrugged, “something like that anyway.”

Honestly, sometimes it was best not to ask how Rinn accomplished things. Whether it was sneaking into the Ellander Army Base or sending messages to Redania. The important thing was, she got it done.

“Huh.” Roche said. “You know, I’ve been thinking I wanna introduce the kids to her. I was worried about communication with Radovid right there and all, but if a  _ Scoia’tael spy _ is regularly exchanging letters with her, then I’m guessing she knows how to hide it.”

“Their brother, too.”

“What?”

“You should have them write to their brother, too. Boussy talked about him like they were close.”

_ He always made time to play with us,  _ Boussy had said while declaring that Iorveth deserved better from his sister. He’d never wanted to hug a human child so badly.

“Oh. Yeah, that’s a good idea. Their mom too, probably, if they aren’t together. Most likely she assumes Anais and Boussy are dead,” Roche grimaced, and Iorveth mirrored it. Not an unreasonable assumption to make, given how many people wanted the children dead.

“Ugh, I should probably write some letters,” Roche groaned, and he actually sounded reluctant, like he  _ wanted _ to stay here with Iorveth.

Iorveth bit his lip, but made himself say, “you know you don’t have to stay up here if you’ve – you know, gotta do stuff in the mountain.”

Roche sighed, breath fluttering over Iorveth’s ear and it took all of his focus not to shudder. “I’ve got parchment and ink. Maybe I’ll just bug Triss to pop by and pick them up when I’m done.”

Iorveth raised an eyebrow. “You do know it’s very stupid to piss off a sorceress, right?”

Roche shrugged. “Eh, if Triss was gonna kill me, she’d’ve done it a long time ago. But I have showed up to her room in the middle of the night a lot lately, so you might have a point.”

Iorveth blinked. Wait… what? Roche… and the sorceress?? But – true, they’d never discussed exclusivity, but he’d rather thought that – well, Roche was keeping  _ him _ satisfied. Was he not doing the same for Roche?

But if that were the case, why would Roche keep him around at all?

He grit his teeth and set that question aside in favor of the one he  _ could _ ask, because the sorceress was supposedly already spoken for. “I was under the impression that the mage was exclusively with Geralt.”

“Uh, yeah, I think?” Roche answered, as if there was nothing to worry about. As if he  _ wasn’t _ stepping out with a Witcher’s partner.

Hadn’t Geralt said he wanted to build a life with her? And Roche really thought that was nothing to worry about?

“Why?” Roche asked.

Had Roche somehow missed the danger? Iorveth shaped his words slowly, just in case. “I would think that Geralt would not appreciate midnight visits.”

Roche shrugged, muscles moving against Iorveth’s back. “I mean, he – well, he wasn’t exactly delighted last time, but uh, that’s ‘cause – uh.”

“What?” Iorveth gaped. Was Roche saying that Geralt  _ knew _ he was stepping out with the sorceress? And Roche was still breathing??

Wait, was Roche involved with the sorceress  _ and _ Geralt?

Iorveth squeezed the bridge of his nose and forced himself to pay attention as Roche answered.

“Well, they were – you know,  _ busy.” _

Wasn’t that the point? 

Iorveth was beyond confused now, so he twisted around in Roche’s lap and demanded, “what are you talking about?”

Roche pulled away and his face was bright red as he gestured vaguely, “I accidentally walked in on them. Though really, Triss could’ve  _ said.” _

“Why else would you visit someone’s room at night?”

“Wait, what?” Now Roche just looked confused, “what are we talking about?” 

Iorveth clenched his jaw. He was  _ not _ going to  _ say it.  _ What would that even look like?  _ Apparently you have a side fuck you never bothered to mention and oh, wonderful, it’s with the sorceress and  _ Geralt. 

Yeah, better to stay quiet. 

But seriously.  _ Geralt!?  _ And he didn’t fucking think to invite Iorveth? Disregarding all feelings and shit, that was just fucking  _ rude. _

Roche gasped sharply, “oh! No! I – not – to  _ talk! _ Not – uh, yeah.” 

Iorveth blinked down at him. His mortification certainly seemed genuine, and from the way his face was blushing – wow, he was turning  _ really  _ red. Like, incredibly, amazingly red and before Iorveth realized it, he was slapping a hand to his mouth, holding back giggles that were determined to spill forth.

Roche pouted at him – there was really no other word for it – and Iorveth forced words around his laughter.

“Sorry. I didn’t know it was possible to turn that red.” 

Roche just cleared his throat, still flushing brighter. Iorveth kind of loved it.

“Just to be clear,” Roche said, “I was  _ not _ implying a threesome with Triss and Geralt. That – you’re the only – I mean,” Roche swallowed and Iorveth could feel himself blushing now. “Triss and I are drink and dish friends.”

“You’re  _ what?” _

“You know – someone you get drunk with and gossip with and just, I dunno, get real with? It’s – we were both outsiders to the Temerian court, Triss and I. Everyone knew we were only there – only had any real power – because Foltest favored us. Which meant pretty much everyone  _ else _ hated us. So we teamed up to get drunk and be petty. It was fun.”

Huh. That was weirdly adorable, honestly.

“Drink and dish, huh?”

Roche just shrugged, rubbing his hand through his hair. They sat in silence for several minutes before Roche cleared his throat again and started, “I, ah – we haven’t really talked about that before. But, um, for the record, you’re the only one I’ve been with since all this started.” Roche’s soft grin made Iorveth swallow hard even before Roche reached out to push the hair out of his face. “You’ve always demanded my full attention, you know. I’ve never regretted giving you all my focus.”

Oh. Well that was– 

Iorveth was definitely the one blushing now and he couldn’t seem to look away from Roche’s mouth.

Then Roche’s hand tentatively slid onto the outside of his upper thigh and tugged. “C’mon, Roche murmured softly, “you’re gonna get a cramp twisted like that.”

Iorveth chewed on his lip, and decided to fucking go for it. Why not, after all, when Roche talked about him being the only one so softly? So Iorveth rose and turned around to straddle Roche’s lap.

Roche blinked at him in surprise, a pleased smile growing on his face as he wrapped his arms around Iorveth. “Um,” Roche began, “what were we talking about?”

Iorveth laughed to himself, smirk stretching across his lips. And then Roche was reaching up to touch the twist of his lips, and the look on his face was full of affection and wonder and – and something that couldn’t possibly be what it looked like. Iorveth swallowed hard and grabbed Roche’s hand, dragging it down to their laps and twining their fingers together.

Roche cleared his throat, looking away with a slight blush on his face. “Um – right. I wanted to say, uh–” 

“About other partners?” Iorveth supplied.

“Oh, yeah, um.” Roche licked his lips and Iorveth realized suddenly that even though Roche had  _ just said _ that Iorveth was the only one, he was about to reveal another. 

“The Stripes,” Roche started and warning bells began to clang in Iorveth’s head. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. What had he even expected?

He couldn’t help throwing himself away from Roche, his mind reeling. “With your  _ men!?  _ You’re their commander!”

Was Iorveth’s voice shrill? Maybe a bit, but  _ really!  _ How could Roche think that was okay? 

And fuck, Iorveth had already known he couldn’t have Roche, that Roche was in love with someone else. But now he was apparently just one of  _ many!? _

Fuck that. 

Fury rose through Iorveth like a harsh winter gale, and he snarled at Roche – at this  _ human _ who talked a good game about consent and respect and then turned around and confessed to fucking his own men.

“Not like that!” Roche insisted, “I would never! That’s not – it’s not like that!”

Iorveth glared. “So how  _ is _ it like?”

“It’s – it’s mostly not even about sex! It – when they need out of their heads, sometimes, they come to me. It’s not – anything sexual is casual. It doesn’t  _ mean _ anything.”

That response slipped the knife between Iorveth’s ribs and he could feel it twisting in his heart. Of  _ course _ it didn’t mean anything. Of course. Iorveth was just the latest in a line of people that had apparently decided  _ Roche _ was – what? A good dom? He  _ was,  _ dammit. A good lover? Well fuck, he was that, too.

And apparently he was that for a  _ lot _ of people, and fuck, Iorveth could take a lot, but there was a difference between letting himself get used for sex and  _ knowing _ that he was only one of many that Roche used in such a way.

His face felt contorted with rage and pain and horror as Iorveth growled out, “how fortunate for you to be able to say as much from a place of power. Would they agree?”

“They  _ started _ it!” Roche snapped. “It wasn’t – I didn’t ever intend to!”

Iorveth snorted derisively, “funny, that’s what humans always say.”

“Wha – it’s nothing to do with being human!”

“For the one with the power, it never is.”

Roche jumped to his feet with a sworn, “for fuck’s sake!” and Iorveth automatically backed away. “You think  _ I  _ don’t know what power I have? How easy it is for power to trump consent?”

_ You don’t even realize the power you have over me. How could I possibly trust that you actually understand? _

Iorveth couldn’t say it, couldn’t admit to his weakness. But he  _ could _ hit where it would hurt, and because of this morning’s conversation, he knew  _ exactly _ where that was. “I think you talk good game about consent and use your mother to excuse yourself from having to live it!”

Roche actually took a step back, surprise and hurt and confusion on his face. For a moment, part of Iorveth wanted to go to him, wanted to comfort him.

He pushed that part down deep inside of him, smothered it so it would never resurface.

“Wha – how  _ dare  _ you,” Roche snarled. 

Iorveth snarled right back. “How dare  _ I?  _ How dare you! Your men  _ trust  _ you–” 

Roche cut him off, “yes, they  _ do.  _ That’s  _ why _ they ask for it!”

Iorveth blinked, the response catching him off guard enough to temporarily disrupt the fury. But under the fury lay layer upon layer of hurt, so Iorveth grasped desperately for the anger and let it wash over him, let it soothe his mind as he searched for ways to make Roche hurt the way  _ he _ was hurting.

“Oh, well, if they  _ ask _ for it,” Iorveth sneered. “Isn’t that convenient for you? You’re just meeting their demands! No power imbalance there at all!”

“Of course I know there’s a power imbalance,” Roche growled, “I  _ know _ who I am, I know what power I have!”

“Then you abuse it knowingly,” Iorveth bit out.

“Fuck you!” Roche yelled, “you judge without understanding a damn thing!”

Ha! Like he needed to! What was there left for Iorveth to understand?

Roche reached out then, hand stretching into the space between them, and something inside Iorveth snapped.

He slapped Roche’s hand away and snarled, “don’t touch me, whoreson!”

The look on Roche’s face immediately made him regret going there, but he wouldn’t take it back. Not even when Roche sent him a glare that could wilt flowers and turned on his heel, marching into the cabin and slamming the door in a clear message.

But that was fine, Iorveth didn’t want to be anywhere  _ near _ Roche, not right now. Not knowing what he knew now.

Instead, he turned and let the gravel crunch under his feet as he headed up the mountain slope, back to nature and things that made  _ sense. _

And if there were a few tears on the way, only the mountain saw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh... sorry? I promise it will get better?


	7. Making Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which communication actually happens! With words and everything!

In retrospect, Iorveth might have been a  _ bit _ hasty with his words – and not just the dreaded “whoreson”. 

Lounging in a tree high on the mountain peak, Iorveth was able to breathe and try to get his emotions under control – which meant he was stuck thinking over what exactly had happened. His unfortunate conclusion?

Roche deserved an apology.

Iorveth grimaced. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to apologize, not exactly. He regretted saying the word, but he was very much still pissed about the rest of it.

And confused. Very, very confused. The thing was, Iorveth had  _ seen _ the Stripes together, and they didn’t act like… well, like an unwilling harem, so to speak. They acted like  _ family,  _ like people who had been through hell together and who trusted each other to hell and back. 

They certainly didn’t act like people being taken advantage of by their commander. Not that that meant Roche  _ wasn’t _ taking advantage – but with some distance and some cathartic angry tears later, Iorveth could admit that it would be rather out of character for Roche to use his influence in such a way.

That didn’t mean he  _ forgave  _ Roche for it though. The fucking human had still sprung a “surprise! You’re not my only fuckbuddy!” on him and – and frankly, it was stupid to be hurt by it when he  _ already knew _ that Roche didn’t love him. This was just emphasis on the fact that Iorveth needed to leave, needed to stop trying to have this thing that was not made for him.

It was one thing to take what he could of Roche, knowing he wasn’t loved, but was at least  _ wanted.  _

It was an entirely  _ different _ thing to discover that not only was he not loved, but he wasn’t even important enough to be the only one Roche was sleeping with. 

Why was he surprised? He knew well that no one could ever want him, not truly. So  _ why _ had he fooled himself into thinking that Roche  _ did,  _ that Roche  _ could? _

Sniffling pathetically, Iorveth knotted his hands in his hair and tried not to cry again. He was well-hidden in his perch in the tree and it was unlikely Roche would come looking for him anyway. Which was why he was wholly unprepared for a certain dragon to pop up next to him without him noticing.

“Saskia!” he yelped, jerking in surprise and nearly falling from his branch. 

She reached out from the next branch over and easily stabilized him. “Are you okay?”

“What – how – ??”

“You were screaming,” Saskia said.

“Was not!”

She gave him a  _ look  _ at his defensiveness. “In your head. Since this vacation was supposed to be a chance to relax, I figured it best to check. Are you okay?”

Iorveth bit his lip. Was he?

“No… not really,” he admitted with another sniff. “Fuck, what have I gotten myself into?”

Saskia tilted her head in that way that reminded him that she spent most of her time as a very, very large predator. “Want to talk about it?”

Ugh. He probably  _ should.  _ But admitting his unrequited love and the shame of all that he’d given Roche anyway? Admitting to  _ Saskia!? _

How could he?

Saskia hummed lowly, and then, out of nowhere, asked, “have you ever flown?”

Iorveth blinked at her. “What?”

“Flown. Through the air?”

“Uh… no?”

Saskia nodded, “would you like to?”

Iorveth just blinked some more. Fly? Like – “with you?” he asked, suddenly distracted from the tangled mess that was his heart and his head. “Really?”

Saskia smiled, “why not? I could stand to stretch my wings. If I’d known how much fucking paperwork there was in running a country–”

Iorveth huffed a laugh, “you’d’ve signed up anyway.”

“Well, yes, but I might have gotten someone  _ else _ to do the reading,” she waved her hand casually. “So?”

“Uh, yes, absolutely! Who would say no?”

Saskia laughed, stepping off the branch. Before she could fall to the ground, she seemed to glow with a bright light, and then the laughter changed from high and cheerful to low and growly as a beast the size of three buildings appeared on the ground next to Iorveth’s tree.

He’d seen her transform before, of course, but every time, it was breathtaking and incredible. 

_ Climb on my neck,  _ Saskia’s dragon voice, deep and smoky, echoed in his head, and Iorveth was more than happy to leap from the tree branch onto her thick neck, grasping one of the spikes on her head.

“Oka-aaaaaayyyyy!” Saskia spread her wings and bound up the mountain slope as he spoke, then launched herself into the air. 

The wind rushed around them in a great roar and then suddenly they were  _ flying,  _ flying through the air, headed away from Vergen, away from the side of the mountain with witnesses. But Iorveth could hardly care about any of that when he was  _ flying! _

The breeze rustled through his hair and for the first time in a long time, Iorveth truly wished he had longer hair. Maybe he could grow it out now, now that the threat of a human holding him down and cutting it off was – less, at least, though not gone. He would worry about that later, later when he wasn’t receiving this incredible gift that only a dragon could grant.

“Thank you,” he murmured softly, knowing that Saskia’s senses would pick it up anyway.

Saskia laughed in his head.  _ Hold on,  _ she ordered and then she was rolling in the air, and Iorveth’s stomach was following her a little before the rest of him and oh gods, they were  _ very _ high up, but also  _ holy shit,  _ this was amazing!! What other creature had ever had the honor of riding a dragon? Who would ever suspect that  _ Iorveth _ would be one?

When Saskia righted herself again and Iorveth felt like he could flex the fingers wrapped around her spikes without falling to his death, he hesitantly unfurled his hands and spread them out in the air. His light tunic stuck against him from the force of the wind, and with every move he made, he could feel the breeze tugging at him, reminding him that whatever his troubles, the world was so, so much bigger than one elf.

Bigger and  _ amazing.  _

Saskia was flying above the clouds – all the better to keep reports of dragon sightings to a minimum – so Iorveth genuinely had no idea where they were when Saskia suddenly dove, forcing him to grab the spikes again  _ very _ quickly.

Saskia’s amusement echoed in his head and he knew she could sense the mix of exhilaration and absolute terror he felt at this moment. Which was probably why she apparently decided to turn the rapidly approaching mountain peaks into an obstacle course. One in which she passed  _ very,  _ very close by each mountain.

Iorveth swallowed, gripping the spikes on Saskia’s head tightly, but Saskia’s control and precision were expert, and they never hit anything – not even when Saskia abruptly dove again – and did not pull up.

“Uh,” Iorveth started. The ground – well, the rocky mountain slope, whatever – was approaching very fast and Saskia did not appear to be slowing. “Saskia–”

Her rumbling laughter only increased and Iorveth’s eye was growing very, very wide and still, Saskia did not pull up.

“Oh my gods, Saskia!!” Iorveth yelped, and  _ finally,  _ the dragon pulled up  _ juuuuuust _ before reaching the ground, extending her wings so that they gracefully glided the last several paces to the mountain, coming to a natural stop in a high valley. 

It took several tries to unwind his fingers from her spikes and his eye still felt wider than was normal as Iorveth gasped for breath.

“Fucking hell,” he panted.

Saskia just laughed and lowered her neck so that he could climb off. His legs were shaky as she perched next to him, back legs folded comfortably. Then, with one of her front legs, she gestured.

_ Scream at the world,  _ she said and he just blinked at her.

“What?”

_ Sometimes you need to go somewhere no one’s ever been and just scream and yell and cry and get it all out. Scream all your frustrations and fears and pain out and it might feel a little better. _

Iorveth gave her a dubious look. “Just… scream?”

_ I’ll start,  _ she offered, and that really should’ve clued him in to cover his ears, but it did not, so Saskia’s thunderous  _ roar _ was entirely deafening.

_ Now you. _

Oh what the fuck, why not? Iorveth took a deep breath and let it loose in a feral cry, “FUUUUUUUUUUCK!”

By the time the word trailed to an end, Iorveth was panting again and he did actually feel a little better. Just a little, though.

_ Again? _ Saskia offered.

Iorveth shrugged. “Where even are we?”

_ Deep in the Blue Mountains. No one around for miles and miles and miles.  _

Huh. Well, Saskia had brought him here for this. He may as well, right? 

This time, he inhaled deeply and didn’t try to form a word, just  _ screamed,  _ screamed with all the rage and hurt and frustration and confusion and betrayal that he felt. His yell echoed across the mountain tops, and it almost felt like they were screaming with him – that they understood what he felt and felt it with him.

At some point, Saskia’s roar joined his, and part of him wondered what emotions she was releasing, what frustrations were plaguing her amongst the struggle to build a new country. Most of him, though, was lightheaded from lack of oxygen and spinning and free as he took all of it, everything that he’d been stuffing deep down inside of him, and released it.

Iorveth wasn’t sure how long that went on, how long he screamed and screamed and screamed until his throat hurt and his voice was hoarse and he finally felt like he could breath unimpeded again. When he was done, he sprawled back onto the ground, staring up at the sky as his chest rose and fell rapidly. 

The last echo of his call faded and a dragon snout peered down at him.  _ Better? _

“Yeah,” he smiled softly at her. “Yeah, I actually do feel better.”

Smug was a strange look on a dragon, but that’s  _ definitely  _ what Saskia exuded as she settled down on her front and back legs, wrapping her wings around her body until she resembled a very large and very scaly loaf.

_ Want to talk about it? _

“Dunno about  _ want,  _ but…” he licked his lips, thinking about what he needed to share. 

_ When Vernon requested this break for the two of you, I was hoping it would help you unwind. But obviously something went wrong. _

“Ha, wrong, yeah, you could say that.” Iorveth closed his eye and reached out with his senses, feeling the tickle of wind across his face, the soft grass and firm ground beneath him, the hot sun blazing down on him, the warm rumbling breaths of a dragon that worried about him. Swallowing, he opened his eyes again and spoke, “I shouldn’t have gone.”

_ You needed the break,  _ Saskia pointed out rationally.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “but not – I shouldn’t have taken it with Vernon.”

_ Oh? _

“He’s…” Iorveth licked his lips, searching for the words. “We want different things out of this. It was never going to work.”

And dammit, he hated how morose he sounded as he spoke. Hadn’t he already given Roche enough of his tears?

Saskia tilted her head and blew a puff of warm air over him.  _ You’re being dramatic. Why can’t it work? _

Iorveth swallowed, forcing the words out. “He loves Foltest.”

The low noise that came from Saskia indicated surprise and confusion, he was pretty sure. But then she spoke,  _ Even if that’s true – so? Foltest is dead. Vernon’s life continues. Why can you not share that life? _

Iorveth shook his head, closing his eye against the tears that wanted to fall. “He doesn’t want me to. Not like I want to.”

He’d never heard a dragon snort before. It was more than slightly terrifying.  _ Bullshit,  _ Saskia dismissed. 

Iorveth sputtered and Saskia flicked her tail at him.

_ Vernon loves you. Whether its different or more than what he felt for Foltest, I cannot say. But the man who stood steady through an eight year old’s meltdown because he worried about you? That man adores you. _

Iorveth scoffed. “Not likely.”

_ What has our idiot human done to convince you otherwise? _

He laughed bitterly. “Shall we start with me stupidly asking if he loved Foltest? Or perhaps the part where he made it pretty clear I’m one fuck amongst many?”

_ How clear is clear?  _ Saskia asked, and he just looked at her.  _ You have a bit of a tendency to read into things. And Vernon – well, he’s not always the most  _ observant _ human around. _

“How clear is ‘oh, by the way, I also fuck my team’?” Iorveth threw an arm over his face. “It’s stupid, it shouldn’t matter. I already know he can’t be mine. So why is it so fucking hard to accept?”

Saskia plucked up a shard of obsidian and began to sharpen her claws.  _ Because you love him. And we were not made to be parted from those we love. _

Iorveth’s snort came out more like a sob, but Saskia didn’t comment on it.

_ You have been through much of late. If you cannot find peace with Vernon, then I hope that you can find it here.  _

Iorveth rubbed his face. His scars were rough against his hands, but for the first time since he’d gotten them, Iorveth felt no self consciousness. Saskia had explained to him how dragons saw before, how it was less about details and more about movement and body temperature. Whatever form she took, Saskia could not truly perceive his scars – and she wouldn’t care, anyway. What was an elf’s disfigured face to a  _ dragon?  _

There was something freeing about that and he took a moment to just breathe, to soak in the knowledge that right now, nothing in the world mattered except him and Saskia and the mountain, and whether or not Iorveth was scarred had no bearing on any of it.

“Enough about me,” Iorveth dismissed. “How’s – is the paperwork that bad?”

Saskia growl was exhausted and annoyed.  _ I have to keep moving the pages to see them! And they’re endless! Where do we even get all that parchment from? Surely there are better uses for it! _

Iorveth laughed. “Hate to say it, but even the Scoia’tael had paperwork. For inventory, if nothing else.”

The groan Saskia let out was heartfelt and massive.  _ It takes me forever to get through even just one report. I’ve no doubt the guards you posted assume I’m illiterate. _

“Nah, just slow,” Iorveth joked and Saskia poked him with her tail. “So what’s wrong with getting a scribe?”

_ Nothing at all, except I hadn’t thought of it,  _ Saskia admitted and Iorveth chuckled.  _ I’m sure there are a number of competent scribes in Vergen. Surely one of them can deal with my paperwork. _

“I’ve no doubt they’ll all jump at the chance,” Iorveth smiled. If there was one thing Saskia was good at, it was inspiring loyalty and hope in her followers. 

Saskia huffed, another breath of hot air that whispered past him.  _ So what now? _

“You’re asking  _ me?” _

_ Yes,  _ she poked him with her tail again.  _ What do you want to do now? _

“...I don’t know.”

_ Forget all the obstacles in your way. What do you  _ want _ to do? _

What he wanted? Mostly to curl up somewhere warm and feel Roche’s hands stroke through his hair again.

_ So why can’t you have that? _ Saskia prompted, and Iorveth flushed as he realized she must have been able to sense his longing.

“I–” What part of ‘he doesn’t want me’ was hard to understand?

Except it wasn’t really that, was it? If Roche didn’t want him at all, then Roche wouldn’t have organized a whole vacation for them, wouldn’t have held him softly, wouldn’t have literally spent the entire day with Iorveth in his lap.

Iorveth gulped. He so wanted to believe it meant something, so wanted to believe that Roche really did want him. But how could he? How could  _ anyone _ want him?

Saskia’s tail thwapped him over the head and he jumped. “Ouch!”

_ Stop brooding. Tell me why you can’t have what you want? _

“Well, for starters, we left things in a screaming match, so, y’know…” 

She poked him again, this time at the sensitive point where his neck met his shoulder and he squirmed away from her.

_ Why? What needs to happen for you to get what you want? _

Iorveth opened his mouth – and then abruptly realized he had nothing to say.

Saskia looked smug again, wiggling her head back and forth and Iorveth felt a laugh bursting out of him.

“You’re a ridiculous dragon, you know that?”

_ But of course! I learned from the best! _ she preened,  _ now… _

He licked his lips and thought seriously about her question. What would need to happen for him to get what he wanted?

Well, first off, there was the whole “whoreson” thing. That would need an apology. Roche deserved that from him.

Secondly… well, Iorveth  _ refused _ to play the role of one of Roche’s numerous side pieces. If – If Roche wanted to have him, then Iorveth needed some things in return. Like even just a hint that his feelings weren’t – that he wasn’t – well. 

“Ugh, I have to talk to him, don’t I?” he groaned.

_ You really, really do. But look on the bright side – he may surprise you. I truly believe he loves you. Give him a chance to prove as much. _

Iorveth swallowed. “And if he doesn’t?”

_ Then,  _ Saskia said deliberately,  _ he can discover what happens when he breaks the heart of someone a dragon considers her own. _

Iorveth blinked. And then blinked again. “I – really?”

She gave him another look.  _ Of course you are mine, Iorveth. And dragons do not easily give up their hoards. _

He was struck with a sudden mental image of himself swimming through a pile of gold and had to laugh. “Aren’t dragon hoards usually… I dunno, valuables?”

_ But I have the most valuable things of all, _ Saskia countered.  _ Life. Trust. Loyalty. Love. Such sacred emotions that you two-leggeds feel so deeply and I am fortunate enough to receive them? Why should I ever wish for a different hoard? _

“Oh,” Iorveth said softly, feeling something warm and bright building in his chest. “I’m – I’m honored.”

Saskia just laughed.  _ So, would you like to scream some more, or should we return before dark? _

Iorveth took a serious moment to think about how he felt. Not  _ good,  _ but not so bad anymore. Huh. 

“I think I’m ready to go back. But uh, maybe no barrel rolls this time?

Saskia laughed and made no promises. 

* * *

Flying above the clouds as the sun slowly set was an unparalleled experience and Iorveth could only stare in awe. Some part of him still couldn’t believe this, couldn’t believe that  _ he _ of all people would get to fly like this, but Saskia’s casual claim over him had settled the squirming part of him that knew he was unlovable. After all, if a  _ dragon _ found him worthy of calling her own, then he couldn’t be all bad, right?

Iorveth smiled to himself. Saskia considered him part of her hoard. Even if – well, even if everything else recently had been horrible, that was a definite highlight.

Also, flying. Flying was pretty fucking cool.

What they were flying  _ towards _ – that he was less delighted about. Not that he wanted to leave things the way they were with Roche. But… talking was already hard. Add  _ emotions _ into the mix? Ugh.

But Roche deserved an apology and  _ he _ deserved an explanation. And, well… he still had a goodbye gift to pass along.

Iorveth swallowed hard, taking a slow deep breath. It was fine. He could get through this. 

Saskia dove down below the clouds, and suddenly Vergen’s mountain peak was approaching very fast again. Rather than wait to see if Saskia did the same thing as last time, Iorveth decided to just squeeze his eye closed and hope Saskia’s fun didn’t accidentally kill him.

Which was why he didn’t immediately notice when Saskia actually did land (safely), not until her tail reached around to poke him.  _ You okay? _ she asked.

“Yeah,” Iorveth murmured, feeling his ears blush. “Thank you again, seriously.”

_ Always.  _

He swallowed back the feeling that swelled up at the sheer confidence in her response and patted the side of her neck as he dismounted. Gravel shifted underfoot and it took him several moments to find his legs again – so of course, Saskia nudged him with her snout and made him lose balance all over again.

“Hey!”

Delighted laughter rang in his head.  _ Remember, give him a chance to surprise you. You might like what happens. _

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, shoving at her head. 

She faked him out with a feigned head nudge and then poked the back of his neck with her tail, definitely just to see him squirm. 

“All right, all right, I will,” he conceded.

_ Good. I hope you enjoy your vacation,  _ she said and then took off into a bounding leap, gliding around the mountain and out of sight. 

Iorveth shook his head, a fond smile pulling at his lips.

“Uh.”

A grunt made Iorveth whirl around to find Roche standing a short distance away, holding a candle that was slowly dripping wax onto his hand. He didn’t seem to notice, though, staring bug-eyed at Iorveth.

“Ah,” Iorveth said. Saskia couldn’t have warned him?

“That was a dragon,” Roche dragged out slowly. 

“Yup,” Iorveth nodded. 

“A dragon,” Roche repeated. “You rode a  _ dragon!?”  _

Was there a hint of jealousy in there? Iorveth couldn’t blame him. “We’re friends,” he said casually. 

Roche gaped at him.

“Shall we head back before it gets too dark?”

Without waiting for a reply, Iorveth strode past Roche, headed back to their little cabin. Shit, he hadn’t thought of the right words to apologize with at all. But he was going to have to eventually, so he started rehearsing in his head.

Roche stumbled along behind him, apparently struck silent by the shock. 

When they reached the cabin, Iorveth stepped inside first, then turned to face Roche, briefly taking in the parchment that littered the room. And then his gaze focused on Roche and he realized that the human must have followed him largely on autopilot, because Roche’s expression was dazed and he just kept blinking and mouthing  _ dragon _ to himself. 

He was also, Iorveth realized with some alarm, still apparently unaware of the wax dripping down his hand. 

“Oh, Vernon,” Iorveth tutted, automatically reaching for Roche’s hand and removing the candle, placing it in a holder on the table. “You’re lucky these don’t burn hotter,” he said, peeling the wax away from Roche’s hand. 

“You rode a  _ dragon,”  _ Roche said again.

“Yes, we’ve been over that,” Iorveth rolled his eyes. “Catch up, Vernon.”

Roche blinked at him.  _ “How _ are you friends with a dragon?”

Iorveth debated answering him semi-honestly. And then he decided, “it’s an elf thing.”

“Bullshit.”

Iorveth just shrugged, smirking slightly. Roche’s hand would be fine – it was merely a bit red from the heat, but certainly no lasting damage. So why couldn’t Iorveth seem to let go of his hand?

“I’m sorry,” Iorveth began, “for calling you – what I called you.”

Roche cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for springing that on you. I didn’t – I wasn’t trying to – ugh.” He held up his index finger to ask for a moment and then turned and grabbed a piece of parchment from the table.

Iorveth raised an eyebrow, but Roche just fiddled with it biting his lip.

“I know I fucked up that explanation,” he said slowly. “So, uh – here.”

Iorveth took the parchment with some confusion, and looked down to see a note addressed to him. “You wrote me a letter?” he blinked. Why was that weirdly adorable? 

“Well, talking wasn’t working,” Roche shrugged and cleared his throat, shifting on his feet.

Iorveth hummed in agreement and looked down to read the letter, complete with crossed out half-sentences and thoughts. 

_ Iorveth, _

_ I know I messed up my explanation, so I wanted to try again. When I said I wanted to discuss other partners,  _ ~~_ it’s because _ ~~ _ I meant that I want us to be on the same page. Since we’ve started this, there’s only been you. Fuck, how could I want anyone else when you’re around?  _

Iorveth bit his lip, darting a glance up at Roche. Roche was watching his face carefully, fingers twisting against each other in – what? Fear? Hope? Iorveth didn’t know what he wanted it to be, so he looked down again.

~~_We’ve_ _This_~~ _ The Blue Stripes are special to me. You probably already know, but I found each of them, trained them, brought them together until we became a team. I’m their commander, yes, and that does affect the power dynamics. But I swear to you, I would never put my team in a position where they did not feel safe saying no.  _

~~_ For us, for the Stripes, it’s _ ~~ _ I said that sex was casual for us, because it IS, but I don’t think I said it right. It’s casual because we’re already family. _

Iorveth pursed his lips. That was, more or less, in line with the conclusion he had come to regarding the Stripes, but there was something about seeing it spelled out. Of  _ course _ Roche slept with them – they were important to him, so why not?

What was Iorveth to him? 

Iorveth swallowed and kept reading, wincing at Roche’s very obvious emphasis on ‘whoreson’.

_It_ _Have I ever told you my view on sex? As you can imagine, a_ ** _whoreson_** _has got kind of a_ ~~ _messed up_~~ _strange view. To me, pleasure is pleasure and I’m happy to seek it out where it’s offered._ ~~ _It’s all casual, but_~~ _It’s got nothing to do with love or emotions or whatever. Having sex with someone doesn’t affect my opinion of them, doesn’t suddenly change what a relationship is. For the Stripes, it’s about giving my people what they need. That sounds weird. It’s – the sex is significant not because of the sex itself, but because of who they are. Who you are._

Iorveth blinked. Why would Roche end it like that? The letter was about the Stripes, not about Iorveth. How did he fit into the picture?

Finally, he looked up at Roche, who was gnawing on his lower lip.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Iorveth asked, and he could hear the exhaustion in his own voice.

Roche gave a half shrug. “Give me a chance?”

Iorveth frowned. A chance for  _ what?  _ To get his heart broken?

But he’d promised Saskia and, dammit, he  _ wanted _ to give Roche a chance, wanted Saskia to be right about Roche’s feelings.

He took a deep breath, “I’m not – I shouldn’t have accused you. I’d never – the Scoia’tael are more like children than – well. But I know the Stripes are family to you. That’s not – that’s not why I’m–” he bit his lip, fumbling for words.

Roche blinked. “It’s… not?”

“I–” Iorveth dragged his hand over his face. “Gods, I could use a drink.”

Roche snorted, “we finished off the wine, but your pipe should still be outside.”

Iorveth perked up. “That will do.”

He slipped past Roche and out the door and in the moments before Roche followed him, he squeezed his eye shut tight and ordered himself to  _ try  _ – to listen to what Roche had to say, to work hard to say what he needed to himself, to hope that just because he was unlovable didn’t meant Roche was unwilling to try.

He opened his eye again and grabbed his pipe. For a moment, he could feel Roche’s body heat against his back, though Roche didn’t actually make contact. Then Roche lit his pipe for him and pulled away, to take a seat on the hammock. Iorveth inhaled deeply and then followed, offering the pipe to Roche.

Roche took it with an upward twitch of his lips and tilted his head to offer Iorveth the “seat” next to him.

Two grown men attempting to arrange themselves on a hammock  _ without _ cuddling  _ and _ without dropping their pipe was as much of a disaster as it sounded like, but eventually, they settled into the center of the hammock, sitting cross legged and facing each other.

“So,” Roche said slowly, “if you’re not upset about the Stripes, uh…”

Iorveth took another hit and opened his eye as he exhaled, the smoke curling in the air between them. “It’s – I’m not – I don’t object to other partners, theoretically. But I wasn’t expecting–”

“Yeah,” Roche nodded, “I’m sorry about that. I – yeah, that could’ve gone better.”

Iorveth snorted roughly, and when Roche passed the pipe back to him, their fingers brushed over each other.

Roche licked his lips. “So, the part you  _ do _ object to…?”

“I–,” Iorveth sighed, looking into the darkness over Roche’s shoulder rather than looking at him. “I thought I could do this–”

Roche inhaled sharply at his words and coughed on smoke. He curled forward, coughing harshly and Iorveth reached out to pat his shoulder. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Roche rasped. His expression was distraught and it took Iorveth aback. Maybe… maybe this  _ did _ mean more to Roche, even if it wasn’t as much as he hoped for. Maybe it  _ could  _ be.

“I want more,” Iorveth said softly and Roche blinked in surprise. “I want–” Fuck, why was it so hard to say? “The Stripes are important to you. I want that.”

“Oh,” Roche said softly, “but Iorveth, you already  _ are.  _ I – gods, how could anyone compare to you? You’re–” he waved his hand around, clearly fumbling for words. “You’re – yes. I want that too. Is what I’m trying to say.”

Oh. That – Iorveth wanted  _ so badly _ to believe that.

So why not? Even… even if he wasn’t sure,  _ Saskia _ believed that Roche could love him.  _ Roche _ seemed to believe he could – well, feel something, anyway. Why  _ shouldn’t _ Iorveth shove aside the part of him that screamed that this was all fake and no one could ever love him, and grasp this offer with both hands?

“Good,” he murmured softly, and Roche’s smile started small, but quickly grew.

“Yeah?”

Iorveth bit his lip and nodded, finally meeting Roche’s eyes. The sheer relief on Roche’s face was startling and it reassured Iorveth that he was choosing right. Maybe… maybe they could build something together.

“I mean it,” Roche said softly, telegraphing his moves clearly as he reached for Iorveth. Iorveth let him. “There’s only been you. Fuck, even when Ves and Fenn were playing with Thirteen, all I could think was that I wanted you.”

Iorveth blinked, then blushed brightly. “Oh.”

Roche traced his thumb across Iorveth’s cheekbone. “I know it’ll take more than one conversation to believe,” Roche said softly, “but you’re – fuck, Iorveth, when you’re around, I can’t look away.”

Iorveth didn’t know how to react to that, but closing his eye and leaning into the hand cupping his face seemed as good a move as any. Roche slid his hand across his cheek into his hair, tugging him forward lightly until his face was pressed against Roche’s chest. The position forced his back to curve awkwardly, since he was still sitting cross legged, but when he felt Roche press a kiss to the top of his head, it was somehow the easiest thing in the world to shift onto his knees, pushing his weight against Roche to balance. Then he shoved forward, extending his legs until Roche fell back against the hammock, legs crossed underneath Iorveth.

Roche laughed, a soft happy sound that made Iorveth smile against his chest. Roche wrapped his arm around Iorveth, holding him close even as Roche squirmed to stretch his legs out. It felt good to be in Roche’s arms again, to know that Roche  _ wanted _ him there. 

“It’s nice enough out,” Roche murmured, “we could just sleep out here.”

Sleep. Iorveth’s eyes felt heavy just at the thought. Today had been  _ more _ than exhausting, with his emotions slingshotting all over the place. 

He nodded against Roche’s chest, and Roche’s fingers started combing through his hair again. They stayed like that in silence for a long while, Iorveth letting his mind go blank and enjoying  _ not thinking. _

“...we’re laying on the pipe, aren’t we?” he realized.

“Oh shit,” Roche froze for a moment, then shrugged. “If it hasn’t burned anything yet, it’s not going to.”

Iorveth snorted, eyes still closed. “If we catch on fire, I’m blaming you.”

“Like you wouldn’t anyway,” Roche chuckled.

  
“Mmm, true,” he murmured, his words slurring with exhaustion. Roche’s fingers resumed combing through his hair and Roche really was such a  _ fantastic _ pillow, so it was no wonder that Iorveth quickly fell asleep, feeling more content than he had for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided Saskia and Iorveth are the kinda bffs who lovingly torment each other and I love it.


	8. Vacay Day 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iorveth sleeps better than ever in Roche's arms, and wakes up wanting to feel good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating change! This chapter does contain explicit sex!

Aside from one sleepy near fall from the hammock when Roche got up at one point, that night was the best sleep Iorveth had had since… well, probably since the night in his house, when Roche had hummed him to sleep. 

When Roche returned in the night, he’d crawled in behind Iorveth, so Iorveth woke with Roche warm against his back, an arm around his middle. It was a good way to wake and he leaned further into Roche, soaking in that human warmth. Roche mumbled in his sleep, nuzzling into the back of Iorveth’s neck, and he felt such an upswell of affection that he had to bite his lip to keep a stupid smile off his face.

Iorveth stretched, arching his back and pointing his toes, and then wiggled back into place, hoping he could fall asleep easily. Unfortunately, a restlessness dogged him and had him shifting his hips and clenching as warmth built in his belly, driven on by the way Roche’s breath puffed across his neck and left goosebumps in its wake. He shuddered, squirming, until a warm hand closed around his hip.

“Good morning,” Roche rumbled, pressing a kiss against the back of Iorveth’s neck.

Iorveth shivered, reaching down to cover Roche’s hand and interlacing their fingers. Then, he bit his lip and tugged Roche’s hand down across his stomach and through the neckline of his robes, muscles twitching at the warm touch of bare skin against bare skin. 

Roche hummed behind him, a low, pleased sound, and Iorveth had to grind his hips back,  _ had _ to feel the hot brand of Roche’s cock against his ass. 

He dragged Roche’s hand up his chest and over his nipple, shuddering as the hot palm rolled against the hard nub.

There was nothing special about the touch, other than that it came from Roche’s hand under his own control. But that was enough to leave him shivering with arousal, enough to have him pushing back against Roche’s cock.

Roche didn’t move against him and for a moment, Iorveth was seized with fear that this was too much, that he wasn’t wanted. But Roche’s cock was hard against his ass, and Roche sucked at the skin of his neck with a soft moan.

Iorveth bit his lip and slowly slid the hand down his chest, down his stomach, under the neckline of his robe, and finally, he wrapped Roche’s hot, blunt fingers around his cock and whimpered. He twisted Roche’s hand around his cock, letting Roche’s palm drag against the ridges, and he couldn’t help squirming his hips up into the grip and then back against Roche as the human buried his face in Iorveth’s neck.

He moved Roche’s hand slowly, building the tension in his belly up until he felt ready to snap. By the time Roche’s fingers squeezed tightly around him, his cock was dripping with slick and his breathing was shaky and erratic.

“Mmm,” Roche hummed, “love how wet you get for me.” Roche’s hips bucked forward against Iorveth, and Iorveth moaned, thrusting back.

“Vernon,” he moaned and he could feel Roche’s shiver everywhere they were pressed together.

Roche pressed a kiss to his ear, but then made a discontent noise that had Iorveth freezing, muscles tense and prepared for a fight. But strangely, all Roche did was grind his hips forward and nuzzle into Iorveth’s neck, mumbling, “wanna see.”

Iorveth blinked in surprise. That – hadn’t even occurred to him, honestly. He wasn’t used to people wanting to see him as he was now, scarred and defective. But Roche’s cock was hard against him and it was an easy request to fulfill, so he squirmed and wiggled until he could get the robe down his shoulders. 

Roche hooked his chin over Iorveth’s shoulder and watched them, watched the way Iorveth guided Roche’s hand to stroke his cock and Iorveth shivered wildly. 

“Nnnh, Vernon.”

“What do you need, darling?”

Iorveth made a small sound at the endearment. “I want –  _ ah  _ – I want your cock between my thighs. Want to feel you hot against me.”

“Fuck,” Roche moaned. “Pull your robes up.”

Unfortunately, to do so, Iorveth had to let go of Roche’s hand, but he tugged his robes up around his hips. Roche’s fingers were motionless, like a marionette cut from its string, and when he loosened them, Iorveth was struck with the sudden fear that Roche didn’t want this. 

He swallowed that fear down and reached back to tear Roche’s trousers open, shoving them down until Roche’s cock was free, hot as a brand against the back of his thighs, which were already slick from his dripping cunt. Roche slid forward, pushing between his thighs and gliding across his folds.

“Gods, fuck,” Iorveth swore, wrapping his hand around Roche’s again and guiding them to stroke his cock, twisting with each movement.

Roche’s cock thrust steadily between his thighs, forcing them apart each time and rubbing across his cunt. Iorveth never wanted it to stop and couldn’t help the way he clenched, cunt leaking all over Roche’s cock.

“Nngh, Iorveth,” Roche mumbled. “Gods, everything with you feels so good.”

Iorveth felt something bright come to life in his chest. Even if it was only sex, at least it was really, really good sex. And maybe… maybe Roche could come to care about him as more than a really good fuck.

Roche turned his head and sucked Iorveth’s ear into his mouth and Iorveth arched with a gasp. “Vernon!”

Roche nuzzled against him. “Come for me, darling,” Roche murmured and Iorveth couldn’t help but obey.

His orgasm was all encompassing and when Roche offered his messy hand, Iorveth licked it clean in a hazy half-aware state. It took him a while to realize that Roche hadn’t followed him over the edge, even though the man had stopped grinding against him and a cold fist suddenly squeezed his heart. Had he failed to please Roche?

“You haven’t–” he started, ready to offer anything Roche wanted, but Roche let out a low hum and  _ fell asleep _ against him. Iorveth grit his teeth against the wave of emotion that welled up inside him and clutched Roche’s hand closer to his chest.

Maybe the sex  _ wasn’t _ as good as Iorveth had thought.

He bit his lip. If Roche no longer found him arousing enough to even get off, then Iorveth could at least enjoy the feeling of Roche around him while he still could. His mouth quivered and he pointedly breathed in and out slowly, pushing away all thoughts of – well, of anything. He stared sightlessly at the breathtaking view in front of him and committed the feel of Roche to memory.

* * *

Eventually, Roche woke again and they got up, going about their morning ablutions without speaking. It wasn’t until they were finishing breakfast, sat at the little table in the cabin, that Roche broke the silence.

“Anything you want to do today?”

Iorveth shrugged, “not particularly.” He closed his eyes, remembering the yearning with which he’d watched Roche dance with the sorceress back on the ship. He wanted that, but not… not when he wasn’t sure where he stood, what Roche wanted from him. 

Roche bit his lip, “I want to go hunting. There’s a dish I’d like to make for you. Think you’ll like it.”

Iorveth blinked at him, arching his eyebrow. “Didn’t realize you liked cooking so much.”

“My mom taught me.” Roche smiled, “we used to dance around our little kitchen and sing. Cooking was always joyful – meant we had enough food to cook  _ with.” _

“Did she teach you the songs you’ve been singing?”

“Some of them,” Roche nodded. “I taught her a lot of them, though. I used to hang out at the theatre nearby when – uh – during my mom’s business hours, so to speak.”

“Ah.” Iorveth sucked on his teeth, uncertain how to respond.

Fortunately, Roche was quick to change the subject. “Learned a lot from the theatre. I used to watch the audience, watch the actors practicing. Taught me how to read body language.”

“Oh? Not acting?”

Roche snorted roughly. “I am an absolutely terrible actor, as I’ve been reliably informed many times over. Apparently I’m too ‘understated’,” he curled his fingers into air quotes. “Never liked being in the spotlight anyway. Always been a behind the scenes person. At any rate, I know enough to do undercover work when I need it.”

Iorveth thought back on when they met and made a small noise of understanding. “You were undercover that night in Bel Dorul, weren’t you?” His brow knit in confusion, “but you gave your real name.” 

“Oh yeah, when we first met? I was, uh, technically on my way back to Vizima. I was also very drunk.”

Iorveth smiled, memories flashing across his mind’s eye. “I remember.”

Roche laughed, “still managed to catch your eye.”

“You literally ran into me,” Iorveth pointed out.

“Eh, details,” Roche winked and Iorveth’s heartbeat absolutely did not stutter. “Anyway, think I might salt and dry some of the meat. Not that food is scarce in Vergen, but…”

“Old habits die hard.”

“Yeah. Seen a couple of deer around. Hoping I can nail a stag.”

“Want some company?” Iorveth offered.

When Roche bit his lip, Iorveth suddenly knew what the answer would be and that same fear that had been dogging him lately arose. 

“I actually – I,” Roche stammered, “There’s something I have for you. Or rather, something I wanna finish.”

Iorveth blinked at him. “Oh. Uh, okay,” he said, drawing the word out in his confusion. “I’ve been wanting to explore the plantlife on the mountain, so…” He trailed off, uncertain of what he was trying to say. 

“Sounds good,” Roche nodded, and turned to fetch his hunting supplies. 

Iorveth chewed on his lip, contemplating what to do with himself. He  _ did _ actually want to check out the flora up here, but he was suddenly not at all in the mood for scientific exploration.

He frowned down at himself. His thighs were still slick from this morning, and he felt grimy and sweaty, the thrill of a shared mess long since turned sour. Perhaps he should take a bath. He had the time, apparently.

Iorveth sighed and headed towards the mountain spring they’d used before. The same spring next to which Roche had admitted, as easily as anything, that he loved Foltest.

Iorveth swallowed down the bile rising in his throat and made quick work of bathing, scrubbing at his skin with a palmful of sand until it was red. He washed his hair quickly, threading his fingers through the strands and tugging at them until he no longer felt like crying.

Why did this keep happening? Why did he stay, when it only led to pain?

But when Iorveth thought about leaving, about turning away from Roche and going back to his new house and his service to Saskia, the ache in his chest felt like it would strangle him. 

Iorveth could take pain. He was used to it, and his tolerance was extraordinarily high.

Nonetheless, it hurt so much that he wanted to scream.

Well, Saskia  _ had _ taught him that it could be cathartic. Iorveth took a deep breath and ducked his head underwater again, screaming out his confusion, his desire, his heartbreak.

By the time he dragged himself out of the water, Iorveth  _ did _ actually feel a bit better. Well enough to climb the trees surrounding the spring, jumping from branch to branch and playing his part in the eternal dance with nature that all elves were born knowing.

Wrapping a vine around his leg, Iorveth sent himself spinning out in the air, rebuilding himself and his defenses with the feel of fresh mountain air, the scent of soil, the view of healthy green leaves. The cries of birds and the chirping of insects filled his ears as he closed his eyes and let himself swing through the forest.

By the time he was done, Iorveth felt at peace – and for the first time in a long time, that peace was not dependent on someone else. Not that he didn’t savour the peace that Roche had brought him on occasion, but it felt good, to know that he could still bring himself the comfort he needed to just let go and  _ be. _

When Iorveth returned to the cabin, Roche wasn’t back yet, so he grabbed his pipe and his flute, sitting outside to enjoy the view and remember some of his past dances with the trees. Every forest had its own song, its own rhythm and pattern. Iorveth’s favorite had always been the forests of what was now Temeria, the forests he’d been born in. The forests in Aedirn were different, and even after all the times Iorveth had met Saskia in Aedirn – or really, what was now the Free Pontar Valley – he was still learning its tune. But his time spent with the trees today made him feel closer to grasping it, and after a few hits on his pipe, Iorveth picked up his flute and attempted to chase the melody.

* * *

Iorveth wasn’t sure if minutes or hours had passed, but eventually, Roche returned, carrying a not-unimpressive stag over his shoulders. Iorveth set his flute aside and watched him, observed him as he skinned the deer.

It was clear Roche knew what he was doing, years of practice leading to smooth, automatic movement. There was something awe-inspiring about watching someone do something they had confidence doing and Iorveth bit back a smile, lighting his pipe again. 

He nearly choked when Roche stripped his shirt off, continuing to tend to the meat entirely casually. Iorveth swallowed. Sweat glimmered on Roche’s shoulders and the back of his neck. The thick hair that covered the human stuck up in tufts and Iorveth was hit with the sudden urge to bury his face in it.

Shaking his head, Iorveth picked up his flute and began playing again, the melody of the forest that had brought him such peace earlier. 

And yet, his gaze kept wandering back to Roche, who stood with his back to Iorveth, salting and preserving the venison. Iorveth watched the play of muscles across Roche’s back as his arms moved, traced an eye down the square shape of Roche’s torso, so different from an elf’s stature. Iorveth thought he might like it better, though, remembering that broad weight over him, under him, inside him.

Roche glanced back at him and Iorveth realized his music had trailed off as he stared at Roche with a glazed eye. He cleared his throat and began playing, no specific tune in mind, just letting his fingers choose what to do.

The aria to the stars that emerged was light and hopeful, an ode to beauty. It had nothing to do with Roche, of course – he’d simply played it so many times that it was second nature for his fingers now. And yet, part of him couldn’t help but recall the soft way Roche had asked him to play  _ Stella Splendens,  _ and he knew suddenly that he would always associate the two.

Roche finished tending to the meat and stretched, sending a smile at Iorveth that almost caused him to miss a note. Then Roche strode passed him, back into the cabin, and emerged a few minutes later with clothes in hand.

“Hey, Iorveth,” Roche said, “I’m gonna go bathe at that spring. Wanna come?”

Iorveth bit his lip. Considering he hadn’t even managed to get Roche off earlier, maybe he  _ should _ go and fix that.

On the other hand, if he couldn’t please Roche anymore, perhaps it would be best not to undress himself in front of the human. Besides, he’d already taken a bath today, and remembering the spring meant remembering the way Roche had declared his love for Foltest. Iorveth shook his head forcefully. 

“Think I’ll stay here,” he told Roche, purposefully avoiding looking at the man’s bare torso.

“Okay,” Roche said easily, and Iorveth was slightly disappointed that Roche hadn’t insisted, which was ridiculous. “See you in a bit.”

Iorveth nodded, even though Roche had already turned away from him, and he couldn’t stop his gaze from watching Roche walk away. He licked his lips, feeling heat simmer in his belly.

If Roche was going to be a while… maybe Iorveth should indulge that heat, should work off his lust  _ now,  _ when it wouldn’t bother Roche. He fiddled with his flute, squirming slightly in his seat, clenching against the heat. He felt like a teenager again, horny and aroused for the second time today and it was only mid-day. How did Roche bring this out in him? Even with Cedric, he hadn’t been so – so  _ fixated _ on sex.

Iorveth licked his lips and rose to his feet, absently wishing he had one of those devices that magically vibrated. In the absence of Roche’s touch, a toy would be so much nicer than his own fingers. 

There was a patch of greenery behind the cabin that was lit up from the sunlight overhead and Iorveth splayed himself out on the grass, pressing his hands flat to the ground to feel its life. 

For long moments, he lay like that, hands pressed against the grass with his eyes closed. The humming symphony around him reminded him that he was one small part of nature, that even as confused and hung up on Roche as he was,  _ this _ – the heat in his veins, the shivery tension in his stomach, the blood pumping to his cock – this, at least, was a natural part of life. 

Iorveth dragged the front of his robes up until he could thumb over his throbbing clit. The jolt of pleasure had his shoulders shifting against the grass, his breath leaving him in a gasp. He could feel his cunt leaking and he spread the wetness up around his clit, smoothing away the friction of  _ too much.  _

He circled his clit with his thumb, tracing his fingers lightly up and down the lips of his cunt. His usual fantasy brought him back to that first night with Roche, to the enthusiasm with which Roche had eaten him out and slid inside him so easily, as if he were meant to be there. He remembered the way Roche had come inside him, so hot it was almost burning, and yet planting a craving that Iorveth had never managed to sooth in any other way.

Gods, he wanted Roche here, wanted it to be Roche’s fingers touching him, Roche’s eyes watching him. He wanted Roche’s voice in his ear, saying delightful little lies about how desirable he was, how beautiful he looked. He wanted Roche to tease him, to tell him all the different ways Roche would drive him to orgasm again and again and again, and all he had to do was let Roche watch him come. 

Iorveth clenched around nothing, longing for Roche’s cock to fill him. Would Roche tell him how good he looked, stretched around Roche’s cock? How perfectly he fit, as if his cunt was created to match Roche’s cock. He thrust two fingers inside himself, and wished for more, wished that he was speared around a hot length that was unlike anything else he’d ever felt.

“Nnngh, Vernon,” Iorveth moaned before he could stop himself.

A strangled sound from nearby had him freezing, his eyes flying open to see Roche standing in front of him in a lovely brown tunic, gaze fixed on Iorveth.

Iorveth swallowed. Fuck. There was nothing worse than getting interrupted before the build up could pay off, but it would be inappropriate to continue now that Roche was here.

Only before he could draw his hand away, Roche rasped, “fuck, don’t stop.”

Iorveth blinked at him, shivering at the heat in Roche’s eyes, and his thumb moved against his clit again without conscious thought. Roche’s gaze darted down to watch and Iorveth could see a pink tongue poke out to wet dry lips that felt so nice against his own. He bit his lip with a whimper, feeling the weight of Roche’s gaze as it slid up his body and met his own again.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about?” Roche asked softly, approaching slowly.

“Nn,” Iorveth moaned, embarrassment high on his cheeks. And yet, the heat in his belly only intensified under Roche’s scrutiny. “You,” he admitted shakily, and he could see Roche shiver, “tell–telling me what you’ll do after – after I–”

“After you come over your own fingers,” Roche finished, voice gravelly and sending shudders down Iorveth’s spine. He couldn’t manage a response, just nodded and thrust his fingers deeper. “Oh, Iorveth, the things I want to do to you.”

Iorveth whined, thumb circling his clit.

“Gods, I can’t wait to taste you. ‘could happily drown myself in your cunt and not regret a single thing.”

Roche’s voice washed over him and almost let him believe that it was true, that he could be everything Roche wanted.

Roche stepped closer, kneeling down by his feet and tracing a thumb up the arch of Iorveth’s foot. “You’re beautiful,” Roche murmured and Iorveth had to squeeze his eyes shut, willing himself to believe it. “Fuck, but never seen anything more beautiful than you in the midst of pleasure. Never wanted to make someone feel good as much as I want you to. Hell, I could never have an orgasm again and if I got to bring you pleasure, it would be entirely worth it.”

Iorveth whimpered, tension coiling high in his belly even as tears built in his eye. His hips jerked in uneven rolls against his fingers, grinding his clit against his thumb. “Vernon,” he murmured, opening his eyes only long enough to see Roche’s warm brown eyes hot with lust for  _ him. _

“Gods, I want to taste you, want to fill you, see you stretched around my cock. Never felt anything better than coming inside you, you know? Literal ecstasy. Fuck, if I could, I’d spend every moment of every day inside you, feel you around me even when I’m soft.”

Iorveth’s hips bucked, and he pictured it, pictured warming Roche’s cock at all hours of the day and shivered wildly. Fuck, that shouldn’t turn him on so much, shouldn’t make him wish for a world where that would be possible. 

His breath came in sobs and at some point, the tears in his eye flowed over. He wanted so badly to believe Roche’s words, wanted so badly for it all to be true. 

The warm fingers against his face caught him entirely by surprise, and his eye flew open to see that Roche had shifted, kneeling beside him now and cradling his face.

“Shhh, it’s okay, darling. Were it in my power, I’d give you everything you ever wanted,” Roche said so very softly as his thumb swiped away the tears on Iorveth’s face.

Iorveth gasped desperately, toes flexing and heels digging into the ground as he thrust his fingers as deep as he could. “Vernon,” he moaned, “fuck, please–”  _ please mean it,  _ he begged internally.  _ Please let me have you, even if I’m unworthy. _

“Shhh,” Roche hushed, reaching out to clasp his free hand, which Iorveth hadn’t even realized was clawing wildly at the grass, nails deep in the soil. “You’re almost there. Just bring yourself over and then you can have my mouth, hmm? Have any part of me that you wish.”

Iorveth hovered on the edge, so close and beyond ready to come, thumb grinding hard against his clit, and yet he couldn’t seem to tip over, couldn’t seem to make himself come. “Vernon,” he whined, and Roche hushed him again, stroking his hair.

“Come for me, Iorveth,” Roche ordered and that was all it took to drive Iorveth into ecstasy. 

When Iorveth’s eyes fluttered open again, Roche was staring down at his face with an open mouth and something in his eyes that Iorveth wanted so badly to believe was real. Iorveth was still kind of horny, but since Roche wasn’t moving, he assumed Roche’s words in the heat of the moment were just that – words. 

Only then Roche bit his lip and asked hesitantly, “can I–?”

Iorveth nodded lazily, uncaring of the details, but knowing he would grant Roche anything, even at the destruction of himself.

Roche grinned brightly and then tugged on Iorveth’s hand as he sprawled out on his back. Iorveth blinked at him, and Roche tugged again. “Ride my face?”

Oh. Iorveth scrambled to his knees and did exactly as Roche asked, kneeling over his face.

Roche hummed in delight and wrapped hands around his thighs, pulling him down against Roche’s face. Roche’s facial hair scraped against sensitive skin and Iorveth couldn’t help grinding down against Roche’s chin, even as the human opened his mouth to lick at him. 

Iorveth twisted his fingers into Roche’s hair and tugged on it with a moan. Gods, Roche was so good at this, so good at licking and sucking and thrusting with his tongue until Iorveth could think of nothing but how much he wanted this, how much he loved Roche’s enthusiasm.

He felt himself approaching the edge quickly this time and he moaned out Roche’s name, pulling hard on Roche’s hair. 

Roche shuddered, pulling Iorveth harder against his face and the stubble of his beard scratched across Iorveth’s thighs. Somehow that point of paint intensified everything else, made the pleasure sharper, more overwhelming. 

“Vernon,” Iorveth gasped, “I’m–”

Roche just licked into him eagerly, fingers digging bruises into Iorveth’s thighs.

Iorveth’s hips bucked against Roche’s face and he gasped desperately for air as the tension inside him coiled tighter and tighter – and then snapped, sending his mind spiraling away into white light and dancing stars. 

When he came back to himself, he was curled around Roche’s head and warm hands were stroking gently along his legs. He wasn’t sure he felt up to moving just yet, but Roche would need to breathe.

Then Roche exhaled a moan, breath fluttering across sensitive skin, and Iorveth was abruptly reminded that while Roche had brought him glorious pleasure, he was still empty, desperately craving being filled.

Slowly, limbs shaking, Iorveth pushed himself up onto his elbows and began to slowly slide himself down Roche’s body until the hot brand of Roche’s clothed cock pressed against him.

Iorveth ground down against Roche, savouring the friction – but Roche was still wearing his clothes and dammit, Iorveth needed Roche inside him  _ right now. _

“Take out your cock,” he demanded, raising up onto his knees to give Roche room to work.

“Fuck,” Roche breathed, and as his fingers tugged at the ties of his trousers, they brushed across Iorveth’s cunt and each teasing contact had him shuddering, hips shifting as he tried to be patient, tried to  _ wait _ for Roche to be ready. “Gods, please, need you,” Roche whimpered and the second that his clothes were out of the way, Iorveth sank down onto him, letting out a soft whine as Roche filled him perfectly, sliding home like this was where he was meant to be.

Roche’s hips jerked up against him and the human’s voice was deep and throaty when he moaned. 

“Vernon,” Iorveth panted, “fuck, always so  _ hot _ inside me.”

Roche gripped his hips, rubbing his fingertips across bare skin in a tantalizing caress. “How do you want me, darling?”

Iorveth clenched around Roche with a whine, then rose shakily onto his knees until only the tip of Roche’s cock remained inside him. “I want,” he gasped, “I want you to watch me make you come.”

Roche whimpered, staring up at Iorveth with dark eyes. “Yes,” he breathed, pink lips parted as if calling directly to Iorveth.

Iorveth bit his own lip hard, dropping down swiftly until Roche was impaled to the base within him. It felt so good, finally being filled, filled by  _ Roche,  _ and Roche’s hips twitched in an aborted thrust.

“I – gods, please let me move against you,” Roche begged and Iorveth blinked down at him in surprise.

Why would he ever say no to that?

“Yes,” he nodded, “fuck me, Vernon. Watch the way you fill me perfectly.”

“Oh gods,” Roche shuddered, then thrust up against him  _ hard _ just as Iorveth began to sink down. They both cried out in pleasure, gasping each other’s names and Iorveth had never previously known that a human could say his name so very sweetly, soaked with lust and awe and delight.

“Vernon,” Iorveth moaned, riding Roche fast and hard.

“I’m gonna–” Roche said, and Iorveth dropped down, circling his hips against Roche’s and grinding his clit down against the base of Roche’s cock. Gods, he wanted Roche to come inside him, to fill him again and again and again until Roche was an ingrained part of him that could never leave.

Roche arched his back and came with a broken yell, hot warmth blooming inside of Iorveth and he clenched around Roche, shuddering and throwing his head back in the face of sheer overwhelming pleasure.

A soft touch against his jaw made him aware of the way Roche was looking up at him so very softly, fingertips trailing down the length of Iorveth’s throat. Trembling, Iorveth reached up to clasp Roche’s hand in his and drag it to his mouth, where he could press his lips to Roche’s palm and close his eyes and believe that he could truly have this.

“Iorveth,” Roche whispered and Iorveth smiled down at him. He had pleased Roche this time, and that knowledge doubled the satisfaction he already felt.

Roche tugged him down for a kiss and as much as Iorveth wanted that, wanted to sink into Roche and pretend that this world was his, Iorveth knew it was a halcyon dream. Instead, he buried his face in Roche’s neck and savoured the time he  _ was _ allowed to have this.

Their hands lay entwined over Roche’s heart and Iorveth committed every detail of this moment to memory, breathing in the scent of sweat and sex and them on Roche’s skin. 


End file.
